Serpents
by PuddinFreakyStyle
Summary: "No need to scream, beautiful," Scabior said, bringing up a hand to stroke her cheek. "There'll be plenty of time for that later." / Celestia Monanchor, a young Witch with a secretive past, must fight for survival when a foolish mistake leads to her group's capture by Snatchers; but things take a particularly dark turn when the leader of the pack seems to take a liking to her.
1. Chapter One: The Chase

_AN: Hi guys! It's been a long while since I posted here, but I've been going through a ton of old writing on my computer and have found a couple of older stories that I never published but which I think deserve to see the light of day rather than festering away in the depths of my hard drive. I'm working on editing the ones worth keeping over the last few weeks and this is the first of them, so hopefully a few of you out there can enjoy it!_

_Just a quick note for film-only fans before we get started, for context; in the books during the war Voldemort's name is branded a 'Taboo', making it a tracker so that anyone who says it is instantly accosted by Death Eaters/Snatchers. This is how the gang are caught by the Scabior and Greyback in the book, when Harry accidentally says the name. All the best, and thanks for reading!_

**SERPENTS**

**Chapter One:**

**The Chase**

The sun was ageing in the sky as the two young Wizards sat out by the lake, basking in the last of the day's fleeting warmth as the clouds burned a visceral pink, so bright they had to narrow their eyes to enjoy them properly. The afternoon they had allowed themselves to enjoy the sunshine had made a welcome change from the past two weeks spent hiding out in a nearby Muggle hostel. Celestia, the more nervous of the two, was very aware that they had spent too long enjoying themselves without interruption. Their luck would have to run out eventually.

"We should get going," she said to her friend, who was throwing the last of his sandwich out to the ducks on the water, orange ripples reflecting back up at the sky. "It'll be dark soon."

"Just five more minutes," Al said, smiling as he saw the doubtful look on the girl's face.

"Oh, alright._ Ten,_ maybe. There's still a little sunset left. We should enjoy it while it lasts."

Relenting, Celestia tossed the crusts of her own bread out to join Al's on the lake, where a pair of solemn white swans quickly scooped them up, the smaller birds weaving between their wings. Muggle families were packing up picnics on the benches around them, their children laughing, dogs barking, all having come to enjoy the fragile burst of September sunshine. For a moment at least, they could forget that winter was on its way.

Five minutes went by. Celestia hugged her knees a little tighter. She had to let Al have this, that she knew. It was the little moments like these which reminded him what they were fighting for. They only reminded Celestia what she was missing and left her with a dull ache for what she had left behind.

The sky was quickly turning bronze, ushering in the inky darkness. Ever since she was a child, Celestia had never felt safe in the dark. Al was smiling to himself, his eyes on the setting sun.

"Do you remember that one summer back at school when we snuck out to the Great Lake after every Care of Magical Creatures class to watch the Selkies dancing in the water?"

"Of course I remember." Celestia laughed a little, fingering the necklace about her throat. "I'll never forget the look on your face when Hagrid told us it was because it was mating season. I'm sure that green-haired one had her eye on you."

Al chuckled. "What can I say? I'm irresistible to women, even the scaly ones. It's a curse."

Celestia nudged him teasingly. "You keep telling yourself that, stud."

There was a noise from the treeline behind them which sounded suspicious. Celestia turned quickly, instantly on edge.

"Did you hear that?"

Al waved a dismissive hand. "Relax, C. It's probably someone's dog, or a nice little bunny rabbit. No need to jump at every noise."

The young Witch wasn't so convinced. She was mistrustful at the best of times, and the past few months had been far from those.

"We're on the run, remember. I can't help but be a little jumpy. At this point I'm half expecting Voldemort himself to jump out of the bushes..."

Al looked at her suddenly with wide, anxious eyes. Celestia's heart skipped more than a beat. She had never seen someone look so frightened so quickly.

"...What?"

Al was up on his feet in a moment. "We need to go."

He pulled Celestia up from the grass, not even pausing to pick up their scattered belongings before hauling her away from the scene. Celestia didn't understand, but she trusted Al enough to go along with whatever he thought was best. He was visibly terrified, and pulling Celestia so violently towards the forest at the edge of the oxbow lake for coverage that the last of the Muggle families around them were beginning to stare. One man shouted after the two of them, no doubt believing they were having some sort of a domestic and thinking himself the hero for intervening. Al ignored him, picking up the pace.

"I told you about it,_ I told you._ On Potterwatch Rapier said that the Ministry have made the name Taboo, they can track you from it! You say the name and _bang!-_ they've got you-"

There were a series of loud cracks and sounds of shock from the Muggles by the lake. Al turned at the sound, but Celestia didn't need to; it was the unmistakable sound of people apparating.

"...Snatchers."

"They won't cast anything in front of the Muggles," Celestia panted as they began to run deeper into the coverage of the woodland, already a little short of breath, "that gives us a head start."

"Yeah, of about two seconds. They just apparated for all to see, looks to me like they already thing they've won this war and are past caring what the Muggles think- just keep running! Get your wand ready!"

Celestia did not need telling; she already had it out, the familiar curvature of her laurel-wood companion comforting in her hand. Her thumb rested atop the carved snake's head, its body wound from the base of the wand, coiled up to the half-way point. She searched her mind for hexes, but came up blank; all she could think was _run, run, run._ The snapping of twigs and crunching of mulch as they swept through the forest was the only noise which came to meet their heavy breathing.

The terrain was difficult but not impossible to navigate. Soon, though, they began to hear footfalls and yells, and then the hexes came, bouncing off the trees around them and devastating the natural order of the forest. The two fugitives continued to run, following the river upstream in all haste. Celestia readied her wand, keeping it firm in her grip, and began her assault.

_"Impedimenta!"_ Celestia cried, and fired randomly backwards hoping her Jinx would hit one of their pursuers. She didn't stick around long enough to find out whether she had been successful. The two young spell-casters fired the hex and an onslaught of others at the men chasing them, dodging the attack which came back their way. Al narrowly avoided the Cruciatus curse, which crackled red against the trunk of the tree it hit instead, leaving it blackened and smoking.

"They're not playing around," the young Wizard gasped, his words janky and laboured, "keep running, we can leave them behind if we just-!"

_"Locomotor Mortis!"_

Before Al could finish his sentence there was a flash of purple light, and he suddenly dropped like a stone at Celestia's side, collapsing sideways and vanishing with a colossal splash into the river. Celestia was already five foot ahead by the time he hit the water, stumbling to stop herself; she screamed over the edge of the lake for her friend, but there was no sign of him bar from the huge ripples which now disturbed the river's surface.

Celestia looked back at her pursuers. There was nothing she could do for Al except scream his name. Her hesitation had lost her precious seconds. On instinct she ran, and kept on running, as a new haze of hexes rained down around her.

_"Confringo!"_

A bolt of yellow light zoomed over Celestia's head and struck the tree ahead of her, blowing a portion of the tree apart in a haze of yellow light. The force of the blast was so intense that it threw the girl backwards into the dirt, where roots from the surrounding trees began to rip themselves from the ground and tie swiftly around her legs. Celestia cried out in panic, but her wand was still in her hand; she would not be beaten yet.

_"Relashio!"_ she screamed, and a jet of purple sparks burst from the end of her wand, sending the vines momentarily scrambling; it was enough for her to get back on her feet. Five feet or so behind, the man who had cast the spell shouted something unsavoury.

The young Witch thundered through the forest as fast as she could, but the man was so close to her, and clearly far better at running than she was, that he closed the gap within moments. His fingers clawed their way into Celestia's hair, his nails scraping her scalp, his other hand fighting to take a hold of Celestia's wrist; he pulled her around to face him with a beaming, crazed grin.

"Alright, lovely? Fancy a game of Kiss Chase?"

He moved to grab hold of her wand, but Celestia was too quick for him. Another scream of _"Relashio!"_ momentarily loosened the Snatcher's grip, and allowed her to take flight into the trees again. This time the Snatcher didn't waste breath on insults; already running after her, he extended his wand and yelled,

_"Colloshoo!"_

Celestia narrowly avoided the hex which would have gummed her shoes to the ground. The look on the Snatchers' face stayed in her mind; he had looked as though he'd been enjoying the chase, as though it were a game the two of them had been playing. As she thundered on, Celestia reached up to her throat and snapped her necklace free, breaking the glittering links and clenching it tightly in her fist. It had been a gift from her mother, bearing the letters of her name moulded in soft rose gold. Thick black chains snaked themselves around the trees either side of her as she thundered on, missing her by inches. She weaved around bushes and trees as she fled, trying to make the chances of a curse hitting her as minimal as possible; she put some distance between herself and the Snatchers, their footfalls failing behind her; through the trees ahead she saw a peek of civilization, and for a moment she dared believe that she might escape.

_Just keep running,_ Celestia thought to herself. _They can't kill you if they can't catch you-_

_"Gotcha!"_

There was the tiniest _whooshing_ sound, and suddenly the girl felt her throat close up as if she were choking. Her legs abandoned their pursuit of running and crumpled beneath her, sending her skidding across the forest floor. She dropped her wand into the dirt, hands clawing at her neck, desperate for air; it was less than a moment before one of her attackers fell upon her. Celestia was aware only of a grey blur as he lifted her with a huge hand, turning her onto her back. The Snatcher bared down over her, his hot breath covering her face; he was different from the man who had grabbed her by the hair, a huge, snarling beast, well over six foot, as wide as a door frame and almost completely covered in grey, matted hair. His teeth were like razorblades and his muzzle was burgundy red; he bore fangs at her, the stink of him like a butcher's shop, and Celestia almost managed a scream.

"Easy, Greyback!" Called a voice which sounded barely out of breath, the first of the Snatchers she had encountered jogging up beside them. Celestia was aware of the commotion as this new figure wrestled to pull her attacker away from her. "I've told you before, we'll never make a profit if you keep eating all the merchandise."

Celestia remained choking on the ground, barely managing to scramble backwards as the large man got to his feet, shrugging off his companion. She saw before she felt the huge laceration on her arm through a tear in the sleeve of her jacket; the brute had sliced her badly from her elbow up to her shoulder, seemingly with his nails. The site of the wound made her panic, and her inability to breathe became even worse.

The second Snatcher began swaggering about the scene as though he owned the forest and everything in it, watching the panicking girl with languid interest. Her face was quickly turning from the same shade of pink as her pretty sundress to an asphyxiated purple.

"You going to behave, Missy?"

Celestia couldn't answer, not even a nod. The Snatcher flicked his wand and released her all the same.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Celestia collapsed backwards, raking in as much air as she could manage, closing her eyes and focusing on nothing else. For a long time the two Snatchers looked down at her, both a little entranced, but for very different reasons. The man who had released her came and stood over her as she lay on her back, one foot either side of her torso. Her hair was wild from her attempted escape, sprinkled with leaves and twigs. The young woman looked thoroughly spent, breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling as she raked in breath after breath. The caddish Snatcher let out a low whistle.

"Blimey. I'll hand it to you, Fenrir, she does look tasty. I almost fancy a bite myself."

"She's got my scent on her," his partner growled. "Reckon she's mine now."

The other Snatcher paced backwards to get a better look at her, tutting as though scalding a child and not a fully-grown, half-wild beast.

"That's not how things work around here, my hairy friend. Thought you might'ave picked up on that by now. It's share and share alike here, unless it's someone's Birthday or I say otherwise. At least when I'm through with her there'll still be something left to share."

The huge man bared his teeth but said nothing more, reeling back towards the branches of a shadowy tree.

Celestia had hardly been aware of what they were saying, more focused on the horrible constricting sensation in her chest, the stinging pain in her arm and a dull throbbing in one of her toes. Remembering the company she was in, she managed to work herself into a sitting position, staring in terror at the two men. The first looked ravenous, the second bemused. The man who had tackled her to the ground was just as terrifying to look upon a second time as he had been before, menace blistering all throughout his body, his eyes alive with something frightening which she couldn't put a name to. The other Snatcher was quite his antithesis, smaller and lithe, with a mellow, disinterested face and a cool expression. He might have been observing a bee dancing over a flowerbed so much as a frightened, bleeding young woman, such was his disposition.

"Gave us quite the run for our money there, madam, I'll give you that. Almost hit me with one of those _Impedimenta_'s. You got a name?"

Celestia took a moment to breathe, and to think. Just as she had feared, the dark had come in all too quickly. The sun had disappeared through the trees and now they hovered at the cusp of night.

"Lamia," she answered, giving the name of a Pureblood friend from Hogwarts whom she had shared a dormitory with. She had practiced what she would say in this scenario a thousand times, and the words came without her having to think.

"Lamia what?"

"Tanith."

The Snatcher nodded. "Ey'are, Greyback, give us the logbook."

"I haven't got it," the larger man answered.

The leader of the group frowned as though the world was coming to an end. "Then 'oo the bloody hell has?"

The two derailed into a quiet argument and Celestia looked about for an escape; after a fleeting moment she had to resign herself to the fact she had been gifted a narrow window of escape, and that window had now been closed. It was the Snatcher's job to be quicker than her, and she was sorely outnumbered; there were at least three other men who had been in pursuit of her and Al, though she had seen no sight of the rest of them yet.

Celestia wished she had known what was coming when Al had dragged them into the woods; had she understood she would have made him stay, that they might blend into the crowd of Muggle families where the Snatchers would be unable to find them and less likely to throw around any magic. They might have been able to slither away undetected.

_Get up,_ Celestia told herself, and pushed herself into a crouching position. The pain in her foot was so terrible she had to grit her teeth to restrain a yelp as she moved. As she raised herself she was careful to push the necklace in her hand down into the ground, covering it with her foot the moment she stood and grinding it down into the mud; the Snatcher had keen eyes, however, and even while arguing seemed to catch a glint of it as she'd feebly transitioned from sitting to standing. He reached a hand out towards her and snapped his fingers.

_"A-a-aah,"_ he warned, flicking his wrist at her, bringing his argument with his subordinate to an abrupt end. "Saw that. _Move."_

Celestia frowned, hesitant. She stepped back all the same, not wanting to give him any reason to touch her. As the man bent to the ground she saw a burgandy-red streak running through the length of his scruffy dark hair. He picked the gold necklace out of the mud, wiping away mulch on the cuff of his shirt sleeve.

_"Celestia,"_ he read aloud. "Pretty name for a pretty young lady. Odd you should be wearing it, seeing as your name's Lamia."

"It was my mum's-"

"Don't piss in my ear and tell me it's raining, sweetheart," the Snatcher said, pleased to have caught her out. He pocketed the necklace and threw her an unsettling wink.

Celestia scalded herself. _Stupid,_ she thought, _stupid and sentimental._ She should have thrown it while she ran.

The Snatcher looked for a moment as though he were about to close the gap between the two of them, but he turned away as two more members of their group finally caught up.

"Ah, you've managed to get the lad out, then. Lovely."

Celestia watched the pair of mercenaries dragging along a heap of wet clothes which could only be Al. One of the two Snatcher's was soaked through, too.

"Bloody freezing in there," he grumbled, "too cold for swimming. I could have died in that water, Scabior."

"I should be so lucky, Gurpton. Cast a stupid curse, you deal with the consequences. Fancy throwing a leg-lock spell at the poor bastard when he was running next to a river!"

Gurpton flung the soaked boy down with a huff. Their leader cocked an eyebrow.

"Hang on a minute, where's Rex?"

"One of 'em got him with a jelly legs jinx. He's wobbling his way over now."

"Oh, give me strength. I feel like a Ringmaster of a bloody circus, dealing with you bunch'a clowns."

Celestia swept past the leader of the gang and fell upon Al, clutching tightly to his clothes and shaking him. He was cold as ice, and wasn't moving.

_"Al,"_ Celestia pleaded, shaking the boy, "Al, please... wake up, you have to wake _up!"_

"You haven't killed him, have you?" the head Snatcher said nonchalantly to his men. The bickering started up again, and Celestia shook the boy even harder, to no avail.

_"Do something!"_ Celestia barked at the leader, tears blinding her vision; he raised his brows at her outburst, then after a moment of consideration withdrew his wand from its holster and pointed it at her companion, muttering an incantation. A rope of water span out from his mouth and splashed out onto the earth; the boy shuddered a breath, and there was a spluttering sound as he reared into consciousness, leaning into Celestia's arms and vomiting river-water into the grass. A couple of the Snatchers made sounds of disgust, and the leader stepped back far enough as not to get any on his boots.

Celestia clung to Al in relief, hardly even minding the vomit, the pair of them gasping for air, and she was quickly shivering herself as the residue river-water soaked into her own clothes. She eyeballed the lead Snatcher, unsure of what to make of him. A thank-you hardly seemed appropriate, given the circumstances.

"I'm okay," Al said in a guttural whisper. The two youths clung to each other as though they were the last people in the world.

"I wasn't expecting this tonight, boys," Scabior said loudly, circling the pair. "Couple of soppy little lovebirds lost in the forest. 'Ow romantic."

As Al's surroundings came to him his protective instincts kicked in, and though he could barely sit upright, he did his best to stand, Celestia dissuading him all the while, and addressed their leader. Celestia stood with him, firm at his side, holding him up with one arm. Al coughed loudly.

"You can do what you want with me, just leave her out of this."

"Who's _'her,'_ the cat's mother?" Scabior said, taking a foppish step towards the girl. "That there's Celestia. We've been having some fun while you were splashing about in the paddling pool, getting to know each other, like."

"She doesn't want to get to know you," Al said, sternly, and shrugged himself between the two, out of Celestia's grip. He was the same height as the Snatcher, though bent a little from his exhaustion at the river. The leader of the group smiled a little, looking to Celestia over the boy's shoulder, and she felt herself go cold all over.

"You've got yourself a brave one, 'aven't you? There's me told, and no mistake. Tough little bleeder, he is, half-drowned and still trying to fight. Let me guess- a Gryffindor? We'll soon kick that out of you, lad."

"Hufflepuff," Al said proudly, standing a little taller. The Snatcher laughed loudly, throwing back his messy hair.

"Well, not to worry; we can kick that out of you, too."

The soaked-through Snatcher stepped forwards to give Al three sharp kicks, which sent him quickly back down to the ground. Celestia went down with him, clawing with all her might at the back of his attacker, trying to haul him away from her friend; the man shoved her off aggressively and send her spiralling into the mud, where she quickly caught sight of what she'd forgotten; her fallen wand, only a metre or so out of her reach.

As her hand made contact with the wood, the foot of one of the other Snatchers came down hard upon it. There was a slight cracking sound; whether from her hand or the wand, Celestia could not tell. The Snatchers watched on as the girl screamed loud enough to wake the rocks. She gave another cry of pain as the Wizard shifted his weight, prising her crumpled fingers apart and relieving her of the rod. He studied the instrument for a moment, rolling it around in his hands.

"Nice, this. All hand-carved, maybe elm-wood. Decent weight to it."

He was still standing on her hand. Celestia choked out a whimper, her fingers twitching desperately.

"Ease off," Scabior said, watching the girl closely. The little wood Nymph was shaking all over. "Stop acting like an arsehole and give us your coat, Matterly."

"But I'm chilly."

Scabior could hardly believe his ears. "Did I ask if you were bloody chilly?! Hand it over, you numpty!"

Matterly did as he was told, taking his foot off the girl's hand and surrendering the coat to his boss along with the stolen wand. She quickly pulled herself to her skees, cradling her hand, her eyes roving over to her friend, who lay exhausted in the mud, brusied but no longer being battered. None of the other Snatchers so much as batted an eyelid as their leader moved between their two captives and knelt down beside the shivering girl, pocketing her wand before making a show of pulling the great grey coat over her shoulders.

Matterly rolled his eyes as he watched Scabior with the girl, cooing at her as though she were a kitten. Nine times out of ten on a job, he would make a beeline for the girls. If there was more than one in a catch, he would pay all of them a little unwanted attention and pick a favourite to torment until he grew bored. It wasn't always the prettiest he'd zone in on, either; the spitters, the screamers and the blondes tended to get the worse of it. Unfortunately for their newest captive, she fell into the last category through no fault she could have anticipated. Matterly and the other Snatchers waited to see if she would fall into either of the others.

"There we are," Scabior said softly, ensuring the coat lay smoothly over her shoulders, with the air of tucking a child snuggly into bed. It was a huge sheepskin thing, dirty grey streaked with mud from its various misadventures. "That's better, isn't it? Last thing we want is you catching your death out here."

Celestia remained frozen, his gentle handling making her more uneasy than the aggression she'd so far been subjected to. She'd learned long ago that kindness from a man so otherwise depraved meant that they wanted something. Snatcher's weren't known for being particularly bright, but this one seemed to have a few more brain cells than his brutish fellows. To Celestia, that made him more dangerous than the rest of them combined; still, it meant he could be reasoned with.

"Stop them," she pleaded, her eyes wet with tears, flitting between her friend, lying prostrate on the ground, and the rest of their captors. "Please, tell them to leave him alone."

The mercenaries' eyes stayed locked on her own. His were cold, and very blue, calm as the surface of the lake had been before Al had fallen in. Most of the fugitives they'd captured recently were of school age, Hogwarts runaways making a break from the Carrow's tyranny, but she was more woman than girl. Scabior found the change refreshing.

"That ratty little boyfriend of yours seems to think he wears the trousers 'round here, but I think you're the one with the brains, _Celestia._ I can see you've got the sense to know when it's time to shut up... and, I hope, when it's time to sing like a canary. I'll do you a deal, sweet'art. You tell me who the two of you are- the truth, mind- and I'll get them to leave off 'im."

The man put a hand into his pocket and drew out a small silver bottle, translucent enough that she could see the liquid inside.

"Veritaserum. I don't want to make you drink it, but if I think you're being dishonest with me again, I'll force it down your throat."

Celestia ignored the vulgar joke made by one of the Snatcher's in response, though her insides writhed. She could see no other choice but to tell him the truth. It was clear enough from the way they had run that they had something to hide, and he had already got the upper hand of her by finding the necklace. This night had been humiliating enough without having this criminal half-choking her on truth serum.

"I'm Celestia Monanchor. He's Aloxus Sprout, Pomona Sprout's nephew."

The Snatcher half-glanced at Al, curled up on the ground. "Sounds familiar. She's something to do with Hogwarts, ain't she?"

"Herbology professor," Gurpton piped up, nodding his head, his feet itching to give the boy another good kicking. "Has been since I was still at the school. I liked the old bat's lessons. They're Purebloods, the Sprouts."

Scabior frowned slightly. "He's no Mudblood, then."

"Sympathiser," Matterly said, answering the question of who had the book the Ministry had provided them with by already having his nose buried in it. "Nothing too serious. Fancies himself a hero, or a saint, by the looks of things; wanted for hiding runaway Muggle-borns in his family 'ome. Should get a good thirty Galleons for 'im, with any luck."

"Not bad," the leader said, raising an eyebrow. "That means we're looking to make at least fifty." His eyes flited back to Celestia. "And you, my lovely? It would break my heart to hear you're a Mudblood."

"I'm not," Celestia said, a little too quickly. "I was in Slytherin."

The Snatcher glowered. He looked disappointed; suddenly there was a wand in his hand, carved black wood which was so well-used- or perhaps abused- that there were noticeable chunks missing out of it. Its tip had been carved into a sharp point, which Celestia quickly felt the sting of as the Snatcher pushed it up under her chin. She refrained from wincing.

"I thought we agreed to no lying."

"They always say they're Slytherin's," Matterly sang, as though he repeated the same every night, "think that's what we wants to 'ear, but none of the buggers can tell us where the common room is."

"You take the door on the right side of the entrance hall," Celestia said, making sure her eyes didn't leave their leaders'. "It's in the dungeons, all carved rock and crystal. The windows look out into the lake, sometimes you'll see Grindylow's go by. The water turns the light all green."

The Snatcher looked surprised. Celestia could hear Al moaning.

"And look," the girl said, desperate to give the mercenary more proof. She thrust her crushed hand in his direction; he took it gently in his own. In amongst the burgundy bruising which was already blossoming, she boasted an intricate platinum ring, in the shape of a serpent coiled around her finger. Down its back ran a train of sea-green emeralds. It was not the sort of ring usually owned by a woman so young.

"Where d'you get this?" The Snatcher said, enraptured.

"It was my Grandmother's engagement ring. You see, we've always been Slytherins."

Scabior nodded, a little taken aback. "Looks like we really have caught ourselves a fellow serpent." He rubbed his finger over the gem, brushing away the dirt put there by Matterly's boot. "This must be worth a pretty penny."

Celestia nodded, leaning closer to him so that only he would hear. "More than triple what the Ministry would give you for bringing us in."

Scabior couldn't help a smile creeping onto his face. _Clever little minx,_ he thought. Clever enough to know that begging rarely got anyone anywhere. _Bargaining, however..._

"Leave off the lad," he barked, and Gurpton backed away from the boy. Aloxus gave a few moans of pain but did not stir.

"Well, good for you, Celestia. There's not many Mudblood's get into Slytherin."

"I told you, I'm not a..." she hesitated at the word. _"...Mudblood."_

"Got her, Scabs," Matterly said, shaking his logbook in his boss' direction. _"Monanchor, Celestia Anne._ She was at the safe-house with the boy, they've been missing since it was raided. Says here they were the only two who got out."

Scabior frowned. He couldn't fathom it. "Well, what's it say about her blood status?"

Matterly scanned the list again. He shrugged, surprised. "It doesn't. Just says, _'Questionable.'"_

"What? Give it 'ere." Scabior read over the entry more than once. "What the bloody hell's _'Questionable'_ supposed to mean?!"

"Means up for debate, you know, morally suspect-"

Scabior smacked Matterly with the log book. "I know what questionable means, you pissing idiot! But what does questionable _blood status_ mean? I've never seen nothing like that on the list before."

He showed the entry to the girl, expecting her to answer. She was wide-eyed, shaking her head.

"Law enforcement bloke who put me in Azkaban the first time was a Monanchor," Gurpton piped up, his voice hazy, as though he were trying to remember something from a dream. "Nasty piece of work, he was. He made a bit of a name for 'imself when he was on the scene; classic old family, uptight pricks. Very proud of their pure blood."

Scabior's brow was furrowed, the wheels ticking in his mind. He handed the book back to Matterly and turned his attentions to the shivering girl. Matterly was equally incensed, and addressed her directly.

"So you were living in that safe house what, out of the goodness of your heart? Helping to shelter blood traitors and fugitives? Doesn't sound like a very Slytherin thing to do. And I can't see there's many pureblood Slytherins would spend their time running around the woods with a Hufflepuff sympathetic to the blood traitors' plight. What's the story, then?"

"Ain't it obvious?" Scabior interrupted, stroking a hand over the girl's hair, not at all phased when she flinched away. "This one's soft as Turkish delight. Ministry's after her do-gooder boyfriend, she couldn't bare to think of 'im out here all alone on the run; she's keeping him company on these long lonely nights."

"He's not my boyfriend," Celestia said, without thinking.

Scabior chuckled. "Hear that, lads? He's not her boyfriend."

There were a few murmurs from the group at large. Scabior could see how uncomfortable the girl was. Her eyes pleaded for permission to go to the boy, crumpled on the ground. He nodded his consent.

"Go on. Kiss him better."

Celestia fell upon Al quickly, shrugging the borrowed coat from her own shoulders and wrapping it around those of her friend. She stemmed the flow of blood from his nose and mouth with the sleeve of her wet jacket and tried to sooth him with her words. He was ice cold to the touch and shivering all over.

"I'm sorry," Celestia said, wiping his face and holding off her own tears. "This is my fault."

"Y-you shouldn't have t-_t-t_old them," Aloxus shuddered, shaking his head. "You s-sh-_shh_ouldn't have."

"I know, but I had to. We'll be okay, I promise. It's alright, Al, it's alright..."

"The M_-mm-_ministry's s-_sh-_shhut," he hissed; he was missing a tooth, and blood ran from his mouth as he spoke. "Because of P_-p_potter."

He was right. Celestia remembered that he had told her as much from the Potterwatch broadcast; the Chosen One and his friends had torn through the Ministry of Magic, leaving chaos in their way, and between a broken statue, possessed paperwork and a rumour of several Dementors running riot in the court house, several departments had been temporarily closed down, and no more _'criminal admissions'_ were to be taken until all was back in working order.

As Celestia took a proper look at the band of Snatchers, she could see that they did indeed look as though they had been caught unawares, perhaps enjoying a few days away from the Snatching trade until her foolish mistake had set the alarms ringing. The biggest of them, Greyback, had what she now understood to be blood on his muzzle. She realised then what he was, and why he had torn at her flesh and pounced on her in the manner that he did. Their leader wore his thin shirt half-buttoned, a dark green military-style vest hanging loose over the top; he had obviously gotten dressed in a hurry. Gurpton, who had taken the dive into the lake, was wearing a pair of very wet slippers.

Al squeezed hard at his friend's arm. When Celestia looked back to him, she saw that there was terror in his face.

"No Ministry…" he paused to swallow a gobbet of blood. "Means no m-money. They'll k-_kk_kill us."

The chill in the air grew suddenly more bitter. Al was right. Snatchers didn't have a reputation for patience. Celestia clung tighter to her friend, then pulled herself to her feet. She winced at the pain in her foot, but spoke with brave clarity.

"You can take the ring," she bargained with their leader, "it's worth thirty runaways. Just let us go."

Scabior had been lost in thought before her pleas brought him back. He meandered over to her again and reached out to touch her cheek; she bowed her head to avoid him. He exhaled half a breath, a sound like a smile. His fingers traced up into her windswept hair, ruffling through a handful of curls.

"How very generous of you. Give me a moment to consider."

Celestia had learned long ago, as many women unfortunately do, that allowing a thing to happen will not stop that thing from happening, but it would often times prevent the situation from becoming any more painful than it already is. She did not want the Snatcher to touch her, but she also didn't want a black eye for her troubles, or for things to escalate further_._ As such she didn't resist when the Snatcher ran his calloused fingers across her collarbone and laid his palm to rest pressed flat to the side of her throat. She only turned away from him, and pretended she was somewhere else.

"I vote we do 'em here," Matterly said as the girl cringed away, sitting down on a nearby log; the chill was getting into his bones. "Won't take five minutes. Saves keeping them around camp for the next few days until the Ministry's back in order."

At the back of the group, the Werewolf was getting angsty.

"I'll take care of that one for you," he said to Scabior, his eyes fiery. Celestia recognised that flame as hunger.

"You've just eaten," Scabior scalded him nonchalantly, not looking away from the girl, his hand still connected with the curvature of her throat. He could feel her pulse beating wildly beneath her skin. "Don't be a pig."

"Might be an idea," Gurpton said, "I'm freezing my nads off in this cold. Do the lad in here, we can still collect half the bounty if we bring in the body, and their wand's'll be another ten galleons. Take the girl back to camp, she can warm all of us up 'til the Ministry opens its doors again."

Matterly gave a low chuckle. Greyback gave a growl which might have been agreement.

Scabior was more interested in the girl than in whatever plans they were making. He watched for her reaction to Gurpton's threat, but found none. She was very still now, frozen but for her hair quivering in the frigid breeze. She wasn't fighting his touch; it was the fright, he expected, which she could hardly be blamed for; he wouldn't want to listen to people making such plans for him, either. He brought his lips up close to her neck, breathing her in, his fingers resting at the column of her throat. She did cringe away then, and fought with him a little as he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger; when she tried to turn her face away, he pulled her back, hard. He could feel her jaw trembling.

"Now listen here, beautiful. As much as I appreciate your resourcefulness, you're in no position to negotiate. So here's what I'm thinking-" he raised his voice then for the benefit of his men- "I'll 'ave you, and the ring. Sell one, keep the other... though I'm not quite decided on which I'll keep, yet."

There were jeers from the company. The back of the Snatcher's hand trailed down Celestia's neck, heading towards her chest, the stag-shaped ring on his finger cold against her skin. She caught his hand in her own and pushed him away, firmly. The Snatcher gave an amused laugh.

"Alright, tetchy. Snappy little Veela, aren't you?"

The boy groaned his disapproval. He was wavering on the edge of consciousness. The Snatcher chuckled, watching as he tried to haul himself into a sitting position; Celestia bent back down beside him again, offering her support.

"Go on, my son; almost there. Tough bugger, you are. Not many can take a kicking like that and sit up to tell the tale. You sure you're not a Gryffindor?"

"You can't do this," Aloxus said, wavering. "You have to take us to the M-_m_inistry, it's the l-law."

"See, the best thing about the Snatching trade is there ain't no law. None that gets enforced, anyway. I can do whatever I want with you, and your lovely little friend."

"D-don't touch her," Aloxus managed, struggling to his knees. "Leave her alone."

"Might do. Might not. Let's hear it then, 'Puff; what's so special about this one? Does she do any tricks?"

Aloxus spat blood and drew in a shaky breath, which turned quickly into a fit of coughing. The Snatcher raised an eyebrow.

"Guess I'll just have to find out for myself."

More jeers from the men, more laughter this time. Celestia swallowed hard, her thin veneer of composure beginning to crack. She was shaking with fear, clinging to Aloxus.

Scabior stopped laughing. He collared the young Witch and pulled her roughly to her feet, ripping her free of her friend, where she gave a pained gasp as her foot made contact with the ground. Scabior pulled her clear out of the reach of the Hufflepuff, who lashed out in weak protest. Gurpton saw to it that he stayed down.

"I'll take this one back with me," Scabior said, wrangling the protesting girl across the forest floor, "do the gentlemanly thing and get her out of these wet clothes."

There was another jeer from the group. Al wrenched towards the Snatcher desperately, even in his beaten state.

"Leave her alone!"

"'Aven't you 'ad enough yet?! The lad's really got his Scotland yard on for a kicking. Tuck 'im up, Gurpton!"

With one more swift kick to the head, Aloxus was knocked out cold. Celestia gave a groan of displeasure.

"We'll finish things up here and meet you back at the camp," Matterly said lightly, standing up from his seat on the log and brushing his hands together. Celestia screamed in frustration, the sound shaking through the trees as she buckled.

"You've got a live one there, Scabs," Gurpton said, chuckling. "Real screamer."

"Well, you know me, I like a challenge. This one just needs breaking in."

"Just make sure you save a bite for the rest of us," Greyback seethed from the treeline. His presence seemed to hang over the company like a dense fog.

"You wish. No way I'm taking this one back to camp," Scabior said, struggling to keep a hold on the girl as she twisted to free herself, the tears coming now to break up the screams. He always hated the tears. "A tent is no place for a lady. I'm taking her back to my place. I intend upon enjoying my unexpected 'oliday before the Ministry says it's all hands back on deck. It'll be nice to have a little civilised company for once."

"No," Celestia barked, and her voice was surprisingly commanding despite the tears. She wrenched once more under his grip. "I won't go with you."

"Not to be funny, sweetheart, but no one was giving you the option. I'll tell you what you'll do, as you're bloody well told, unless you wanna stick around and watch your boyfriend breathe 'is last."

Again Celestia screamed; there was no one but the Snatchers around to hear her.

"No need for all that, beautiful," Scabior said in mock-comfort, holding her back to his chest, "There'll be plenty of time for screaming later."

He grinned as she floundered, laughing with his men. He brought up a hand to stroke her cheek, hushing her as though to soothe her. "Right little firecracker you are, ain't c'ha? Oh, you're gonna be my new favourite-"

The girl bit down hard on his wrist. Scabior let out a yelp like a dog which had been kicked, composure cracking, ripping his arm from her in a flash.

Things became suddenly very quiet. Realising there was nowhere to run to, and that the Werewolf would probably savage her if she tried, Celestia stood almost still, having turned around to face Scabior. Matterly hissed through his teeth, his hand hovering on his wand; this wouldn't be pretty. Scabior hated the biters. All stayed very quiet, but for the girl, whose feverish breathing was audible. The rest of them knew what was coming; she did not.

Without a word Scabior grabbed hold of her right arm with both hands, pulled her close and snapped his teeth around her wrist, giving her just the same treatment but with twice the amount of force, cutting into her skin. Celestia screamed like a Banshee, falling away from him the moment he let her go. The Snatcher was riled, wild in his anger as he stood over her. He kicked at the ground, rather than her face.

"Yeah? How'dya like that, you little animal?!"

He shook his wrist to alleviate the pain, swearing loudly before pulling her back to her feet and holding her at arms-length by the hair. His bite had drawn blood; hers had not.

"I'm n-not going w-with you," she said through shaky sobs, more panic than pain, her fingers trying to prize away his own. Scabior softened, allowing her to straighten herself up.

"Alright. You're welcome to go back to the camp with this lot," he said, turning the girl by the shoulders so that she was facing the direction of Greyback. He was almost drooling, so irate he was at having had to abandon his earlier meal to chase down these two fugitives. Once they went cold he wouldn't touch them. Scabior squeezed hard at the girl's bloody shoulder, feeling how tense the muscles were beneath her skin. He breathed hot into her ear.

"...But I don't fancy your chances."

Celestia's breathing was laboured. She was more frightened, perhaps, than she had ever been. She was very aware of the wolf hovering at the back of the group, his ravenous gaze lingering on her bleeding arm, and of her friend, crumpled on the forest floor, and of the man who had claimed her, his hands locked around her body, ready to steal her away. He lowered his voice, speaking directly into her ear.

"You'll be a good girl and keep still unless you want to end up splinched."

Celestia had seen the effects of splinching once before. The thought of it happening to her was enough to scare her into momentary submission. The Snatcher seemed satisfied, and loosened his grip a fraction.

"Now, you lot, whatever you're going to do with the lad, do it quick, before the Muggles catch on. We've caused enough raucous in this town tonight already."

He steadied the girl, ready to disapperate. "See you in a few days, idiots. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

There was a loud cracking sound, a final gasp from the young witch, and the unlikely pair vanished into the blackening night.


	2. Chapter Two: Veritas

**Chapter Two: Veritas**

The force of the landing took Celestia's breath away. In a flash her surroundings had changed, and she now stood in the midst of a narrow strip of forest, facing a row of quaint cottages. She was alone but for the Snatcher, who loosened his grip a little; a moment later she could feel the tip of his wand pressed into her spine, and his breath on her neck.

"I'll give you a minute to stop the tears," Scabior said cold-heartedly.

It took more than a minute. He rolled his eyes heavenward as she tried to compose herself. He'd known her type before; spoiled little girls who had never been given so much as a smack on the wrist in all their lives, with not a clue as to what the world was really like. It made them whiners, but also made them easier to control, which he appreciated; if she stepped out of line all it would take was a stern word or a quick smack and she'd crumble. Girls like her were quick learners.

For a moment they stood there together, Celestia shivering from the dampness of her light clothes, the warmth of his chest against her back. The woodland smelt of the sweetness of wild onion; Celestia's eyes fell stagnant upon the tiny alliums rooted all along the treeline, their spiky white flowers gleaming like stars in the gathering gloom. Things felt not quite real to her now, as though she were just waking up from a dream. The image of Aloxus was firmly in her mind.

"Now you're not going to give me any trouble 'ere, are you, poppet?" he told her once her whining had dissipated to a guttural, shaky breathing. He gave a mutter of_ 'Silencio'_ and her mouth closed up like a clam.

"Move an inch without my say so and it'll be the Imperius curse," he threatened, pulling her close again, holding her bloodied arm close to his side, out of sight, and pushing her lightly forwards. As they broke the treeline, the young Witch limping all the way, he lead her up the path of the nearest cottage, in the garden of which grew a large white blossom tree, its branches near bare, but its petals covering the ground. Somewhere a dog was barking. There was an elderly lady in the garden of the home next door, watering her flowers with a hose pipe. When she caught site of the pair of them she waved, a bright smile on her ageing face.

"Working late again are we, my love?"

"Well, you know me, Mrs. Morrison," the Scabior replied, all smiles and charm. "The Devil finds work for idle hands."

"Oh, it is nice to have you home. Jinx has missed you. You will get around to mowing this lawn for me before your holiday finishes, won't you, dear?"

"Anything for you, Joan," he said, manoeuvring Celestia up the final step. Her eyes pleaded with the old woman, but Celestia took from her thick round glasses that she must have been short-sighted, as she continued to beam back.

"Friend of yours?" Mrs Morrison asked. Her accent had the same floral quality as Scabior's; decidedly Southern, somewhat clipped. Celestia tried to speak, but the hex upon her wouldn't allow it. She at least knew where she was now, roughly; they were most likely in London, or close to it. Still, London was a long way from home.

"...Oh, she's all wet, the poor dear. Been for a swim, have we?"

"Something like that. I'll soon have her dried off," Scabior said, rummaging in his pockets for a key and struggling to open the door one-handed.

"Want me to fetch her a nice hot cup of coco?"

"Thanking you kindly, but won't be necessary," the Snatcher called with a strained smile. The moment he popped the lock, he shoved Celestia not-too-roughly inside. "Good night, Mrs. M."

"Good night, dears!"

Scabior slammed the door to. With a call of _"Lumos"_ the cottage lit up like a Christmas tree. The Snatcher flung the key onto a windowsill, besides a wilted house plant on the brink of death, its leaves brown and curled like talons.

Scabior turned to the young woman. He'd almost forgotten that she was still gagged. With a flick of his wand he released the girl from her bonds. The first words out of Celestia's mouth were very unpleasant and directed towards him.

"That's enough of that," Scabior barked, "lovely little thing like you shouldn't even know words like those."

"You think words are bad?! Touch me and I'll kill you, you_ fuc-!"_

_"Silencio!"_ he snapped again, and Celestia found once more that she could not speak. "What did I just say?! You'll behave yourself while you're here or I'll keep you shut up like that." He flicked his wand again, and Celestia was released once more. "I've plenty of soap if your mouth needs washing out."

"I doubt it," Celestia scoffed, unable to help herself. She was tired and frustrated. "You look like you've never touched a bar of soap in your life."

He pointed the wand at her, and wagged it twice before his stern expression faltered into a smile.

_"Ha._ I like you, you little terror. It's nice to see some of you tearaways have still got a bit of spark. How long you been out of Hogwarts?"

"Few years," Celestia answered vaguely, still very much on edge. The dog's bark had turned into a lonesome, forlorn howl. The narrow corridor felt far too small of a space to be caged in with a Snatcher. She brushed away a tear defiantly, refusing to surrender to her inner turmoil. "Where are we?"

"We're in my house," Scabior answered. "What, you don't think Snatchers spend all the time in the woods living off berries and squirrel meat, do you? I like it 'ere. S'quiet. A man's gotta have a place to wind down. May as well take that jacket off; you're not going anywhere."

Celestia clung tighter to her bloodied, soggy coat, her fingers gripping its ripped sleeve. She couldn't bare for the Snatcher to see any more of her flesh than was already on show in her flimsy sundress, however cut and bruised that flesh might be. She looked back out of the frosted window in the door; she had hoped there would be a road sign or something similar in reach which might give her a better idea of where she was, but there was nothing to be seen.

"Take me back to Aloxus," she said, half demanding, half pleading. She added a _'please'_ for good measure.

"Now, come on, let's not keep going on and on about your boyfriend. First things first, a few house rules; number one, you don't touch my wand, or your own." He placed the jagged instrument back into its holster. Celestia itched to get her own back, knowing it rested deep in one of his pockets. "I catch you so much as drifting too close to that thing and I'll snap it in two. Secondly, do yourself a favour and _behave._ You'll get what you ask for in this house; ask for trouble, and you'll get it, more than you can handle. Understood?"

Celestia just eyeballed him. Scabior didn't push any futher.

"That's it for now, but I'm sure you'll give me cause to put a few more rules on the table."

"I want to see Al."

"And I want some peace and quiet, but it looks like neither of us will be getting what we want tonight. Follow me, if you please."

Celestia reluctantly did as she was told. The house was not at all unpleasant, though it looked as though it had not been lived in for quite some time, a fine blanket of dust settled over everything. Though it was clearly loved, the cottage could certainly do with a little tender loving care. Homely furnishings and a curling wooden staircase in it's centre. There was a dusty old record player and a huge fireplace, but not much else bar a few trinkets on the shelves. She imagined that the house must have been owned by a family of Muggle-borns, and that the Snatcher had taken a liking to it after arresting them and had decided to claim it as his own. When she voiced her predictions, the man took offence to the idea of being a squatter, and assured her that it was his house and always had been. Celestia furrowed her brow.

"But you live in a Muggle village. Shouldn't you hate Muggles? Aren't you supposed to be a Death Eater?"

"God, no."

He said it with such disdain that it surprised Celestia. "Oh, my mistake. You only _work_ for them."

He soured a little at the sarcasm in her tone. "Now, now, Veela, tone it down. I work for the Ministry. S'all legitimate."

"The Ministry, which is controlled by _Vold-"_

Scabior cocked an eyebrow. Celestia stopped herself.

"...You-know-who."

"Thank you for not bringing a swarm of Death Eaters into me living room. I was wondering which one of you had had the guts to say 'is name out loud. Should have known it'd be you. I can smell trouble a mile off, and you, young lady, reek of it."

Celestia held her arms close to her chest.

"It was an accident."

"A stupid accident. The Taboo's been good for business, mind. It's much easier just apparating in front of a delinquent and grabbing 'em than it is tracking 'em and chasing 'em down for weeks on end. I suppose I should thank you for making my job easier. Sit yourself down."

There was a dusty sapphire-blue armchair in the corner, threadbare and moth-eaten in places, its cushions sunken by years of use. The Snatcher pointed his wand at the hearth, which immediately burst into crackling flame. Above the fireplace was a portrait of a robust woman with wide shoulders and a mane of dark hair. Unlike many magical paintings, it was stationery; even so, its subject's yellow eyes seemed to follow Celestia around the room, as though sensing she were an intruder.

"Me dear old Mum," Scabior said, smiling fondly at the picture. "She was a saint, though she'd bite your head off if you got on her bad side. This was all hers, before she popped her clogs. She raised us 'ere; so, you see, I don't have a problem with Muggles. Grew up around 'em. I've even liked a few, in my time. They make much better neighbours than Wizards, either way."

Celestia frowned. "And what do you think will happen to dear old Mrs. Morrison once you-know-who takes over?"

Scabior was quiet at that, reflective for a moment, one hand on the fire place.

"Hmm. Maybe you should have been in Ravenclaw, smart arse. Do as you're told n' sit down."

Celestia obliged, taking a seat in the old blue armchair. She almost cried with relief as the weight was taken off her damaged toe. Scabior pottered around in the tiny kitchen for a moment as Celestia studied her surroundings, looking for a way out; there was a back door leading presumably into a garden, and two windows on the opposing walls. All of the curtains were drawn.

"You're not a Vampire, are you?" Celestia asked, only half-joking.

"Not that I'm aware of," Scabior answered, pausing to check his incisors for sharpness. "You must be thirsty after all this evening's excitement, trying to deafen us all with your screaming. Here, take this."

He handed her the silvery glass bottle which he had shown her in the forest. Celestia frowned.

"The truth serum?"

He scratched his temple, hiding a smirk. "Yeah, about that... it's just water. Do you know how expensive Veritaserum is nowadays? You'd have more chance of getting blood from a stone than finding a decent brew of the stuff on Diagon Alley in this economy. My job would be a lot easier with it, I'm telling you… though probably a lot less fun. Go on, neck it back."

Scabior saw that the girl didn't believe him. He took the bottle back from her and took a sip himself.

"See? Just water, luvvy. And you know I'm not lyin', because one drop of the real stuff and I couldn't lie to you if I tried. Now drink up, before you keel over."

Celestia was desperately thirsty. She drank the whole bottle and felt much better for it. Scabior sat on the old leather sofa next to hers and studied her. There was a dark leather coat with a red sash around the arm thrown over the back of the seat, which he tossed out of the way as he strove to get more comfortable. Celestia placed the empty bottle onto the coffee table and asked,

"What do you want?"

"From you, or in general?"

Celestia didn't entertain him with an answer.

"Your co-operation, that's all. And for you to not cause me any fuss while you're 'ere."

Celestia swallowed the sinking feeling in her chest, resigning herself to her presumed fate, at least for now. "And if I do as I'm told, will you stop them from hurting my friend? You'll tell them not to kill him?"

Scabior leaned back into his seat. "Hmm... your friend. Aloysius, wasn't it?"

"Aloxus."

"Well, not too far off. They talk a big talk, but I doubt they've a mind to kill him, not now they've learned he's from a good family. More likely they'll give him another good kicking and tie him up at the camp for a couple of days until the Ministry opens its doors to us again. No one enjoys dragging dead bodies around, and the Ministry do prefer them alive, it's much easier to explain things to the richer families if they're sent to Azkaban rather than sent off to join Merlin in 'is grave. They'll get a few more Galleons thrown in if they explain their trouble. They won't kill him."

Celestia's eyes fell to her hands, tied in knots in her lap. She hoped he was being truthful with her, though she had little reason to trust him.

"Is that where I'm going, when you're done with me?"

Scabior didn't answer her. Instead he took her wand from his pocket and held it between his two index fingers, twirling it nonchalantly, tracing a finger up the spine of the snake carved into the wood, coiled about the handle.

"Matterly was right. Decent piece of kit, this. What wood is it?"

"Laurel."

"Laurel? I'll be damned. They say you can't perform a dishonourable act with a Laurel wand, did you know that?"

"I'd be happy to test the theory if you hand it over."

He grinned at her. "You're funny. What about the core?"

"Zouwu tail feather."

"Zouwu? Blimey. Mine's Veela hair, I thought that was trouble enough, but Zouwu… those are the big Chinese cat-things, right? Nasty pieces of work. Saw one in the Circus once when I was a nipper. My brother tried to get at it through the bars, nearly had his hand off-"

"Why am I here?"

There was that firmness in her voice again; although he could see she was scared, he could also see that she was trying her hardest not to show it. Scabior lowered the wand into his lap.

"Don't flatter yourself, darlin'. I've not brought you here for any funny business, I can see that's what your thinking. Quite the opposite, in fact; I'm doing you a favour."

"Doesn't feel like a favour," Celestia grumbled. "Feels more like kidnap. What is this? Why do you want to keep me here?"

"Listen, lovely... thing is, you are quite lovely. Not that my boys are picky, but if I'd taken you back to the camp, you'd have been in for a rough few days... and nights. You're much safer here, with _me,_ that you would be with Greyback sniffing around you, ready to sink his teeth in. Besides, I don't like sharing."

Celestia's skin crawled. The Wizard reached out to touch her arm; she swore at him again, warning him off, and almost stood up out of her chair. He sat back slowly in his own, with the air of trying not to startle a wild animal.

"He really went for you there, didn't he? I'll clean it up for you, get you some salve to stop it becoming infected; I hate to think what's been living under Fenrir's nails."

Celestia looked at the bite on her wrist, the skin swollen and red. It was aching feverishly, as was her toe, and though the cut had stopped bleeding now, it still hurt terribly. She was equally concerned what might be living in the Snatcher's mouth as much as under his feral colleague's nails, but she didn't say as much.

"He's a Werewolf, isn't he?" Celestia said.

"Was it the blood on his face that gave it away or the salivating when he was eyeballing you? Yes, he's a Werewolf. Wouldn't take a Ravenclaw to work that one out. He's one of the worst of 'em, n'all... not that I need to tell you that."

Celestia's heart beat a little faster at the memory of the adrenaline in her blood, the pain and fear that had drowned her as the Wolf had pounced, sharp teeth bared.

"I thought he was gonna kill me."

"He_ was_ going to kill you. Luckily you had me to step in. Not quite a knight in shining armour, I know, but a better alternative than ending up as a late-night snack, you'll 'ave to agree."

A horrifying thought came upon the young Witch, and she gasped audibly. The Snatcher lightened a little, amused by her panic.

"Not to worry, kitten. You've still got day or two until it's a full moon, that scratch is just a scratch. Trust me, I know how these things work." The man stood up and went to the small kitchen, pottering about again. "Seems unfair that I ended up babysitting the oaf, but there we are. He'd snap you up in a second, make no mistake. He doesn't wait for the full moon, neither; he's got a taste for it. Sometimes two or more a night- you'd have been number three, if he's had his way. You'd be kissing my boots in gratitude if you could see what he'd have done to you, given half a chance."

Celestia gave him a look which made it clear that she'd never kissed anyone's boots, and certainly wasn't about to start with his.

"So, I'm supposed to believe that you're letting me stay here, in your home, out of the _goodness of your heart. _That doesn't sound like a very Slytherin thing to do."

"Yeah, well, we've all got our weaknesses. I've got a soft spot for leggy blondes, I hold my hands up to it. And you, it seems, get your rocks off on fighting for Muggle rights."

"You're the one out there mowing their lawns. Just be honest with me. What are you getting out of this?"

He folded his arms across his chest.

"Okay. If it'll shut you up- stranger things have happened- I'll bite. Way I see it, you Monanchor's are a Pureblood family. I for one have never known a Pureblood Slytherin who isn't rolling in it. The Ministry, they'd give me twenty, maybe thirty Galleons for you, being on their watch list. That ring of yours might get me triple that at the pawnbroakers' on Knockturn Alley. But a missing daughter to a worried family? Well, I'd say that's priceless, wouldn't you?"

Celestia was stunned. "You want to sell me back to my own family?"

"The proper word would be ransom, but yes, you've caught my drift. Keep you here where my little gang of idiots can't damage the goods and I don't have to split my profits. As I said, I don't like sharing. It's a win for you and for me."

"My Mum and Dad are penniless. They can barely afford a roof over their heads, never mind whatever your asking price is. If that's your plan, you might as well just take me to the Ministry, you'll be getting a better deal."

"Sounds like somebody doesn't want to go home and face whatever punishment mummy and daddy will have for their little pride-and-joy runaway who spat out her silver spoon to run off and live in squalor, with a Hufflepuff of all sorts. Do I look stupid?"

Celestia couldn't help but laugh. "Do you really want me to answer that?!"

Something in her tone, or perhaps the fact that she had laughed, rubbed him up the wrong way. He moved slowly from the kitchen and advanced on her, unblinking, bracing a hand either side of the armchair and leaning down into her face. Celestia felt the change in the air and the warmth of his breath against her ear as she cringed away, feeling very suddenly like an animal in a cage. She quickly tried to back-step, fumbling over her words.

"I didn't mean anything by it-"

He swiftly interrupted her, and his tone was quiet, too calm to be perceived as anything but threatening. His hand tensed around her bitten wrist.

"You're going to want to learn to watch what you say to me, and quickly. I've been playing nice so far. I'll give you a lot worse than a nibble if you push my buttons in the wrong order. I've already have to explain to your folks where all these cuts and bruises have come from; a few more won't be too difficult to explain away."

Celestia was very quiet, and very still. The suddenness with which he'd turned had scared the fire out of her, at least for now. Satisfied, Scabior returned to his chair.

"Now, are you going to tell me where I can find your dear old Dad & Co?"

Celestia shook her head, her eyes fixated on her lap.

"Maybe _you're _the stupid one. I'll give you a minute to reconsider."

She looked up at him then. She was still frightened, but she was resolute. He could see in her eyes alone that there was no moving her on this, not without dealing her some serious damage.

"You shouldn't have given up the gag about the Veritaserum," Celestia said defiantly. "Maybe then I'd have told you."

Scabior held a knuckle to the bridge of his nose, considering her closely. He almost smiled.

"I'm starting to think you might be too smart for your own good."

Almost as soon as he had said the words, Celestia felt her body begin to slump, as though she were being transformed into a rag-doll. She tried to raise her right hand, only to find it heavy, as though it were tied down by invisible weights. She blinked slowly, her eyes trying to follow the Snatcher as he stood. He picked up the empty glass bottle from the table and took it to the kitchen, swilling it in the sink. Celestia tried to talk, but the sound was so slurred she produced less than a murmur. She was vaguely aware of the Snatcher coming to sit on the arm of her chair, his hand stroking through her hair.

"You should get some sleep, my little Veela. Big day tomorrow."

Celestia's eyes refused to stay open any longer. Though she tried to stay awake, they closed without her consent, and carried her swiftly away into a drifting, dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter Three: Strangers

**Chapter Three: Strangers**

Celestia awoke the next morning in someone else's bed, to the rather unpleasant sensation of someone pressing down on top of her. She felt something wet at her ear, and her arms flailed as she burst awake, sitting quickly up and breathing erratically, her eyes darting about the room; she was more than surprised to find a large dog panting at the end of the bed. His tail thumped excitedly, as though inviting her to play. Celestia held out a cautious hand, palm-up, and offered it for him to smell.

"Hey, boy," she said in a soothing voice, a little unnerved. "Or... girl, I suppose..."

The dog had some bloodhound in it but was clearly a mongrel, its long ears folding on the bed as it bowed its head, looking at her intently through a curtain of shaggy hair. Celestia looked about the room which was completely unfamiliar to her. Rather than a duvet, the bed was covered in an array of thin blankets of all different sorts- some crocheted, others woollen, one of a thick, dark fur with a fantastical pattern from no animal she had ever seen.

The dog sniffed eagerly at Celestia's wrist, which she quickly remembered was in quite a state upon seeing the bite marks she had been punished with the evening before. She drew back, and the dog followed, scrambling up the bed to stare at her intently. Deciding he was friendly, Celestia stroked his head; a minute later they were fast friends, and the bloodhound wanted nothing more than to be scratched behind the ears by the scantily-clad girl.

Scantily-clad, Celestia had realised; she was wearing only her underwear. This came as quite an unpleasant shock, as while she remembered little of falling asleep the night before, she was certain that she had done so fully clothed. Her garments had been replaced with a bandage wrapped securely around her upper arm, where the wolf had attacked her. Celestia pulled back the fur covering to find that her toe, too, had been taped to it's neighbour, both of them bound with gauze. Celestia looked again to the bite at her wrist and wondered why that particular wound had not been bandaged. She quickly understood it to be a reminder, or a warning; _behave yourself, or you'll get worse._ The swelling had gone down significantly, and it looked nowhere near as bad as it had the night before. The bruising where the skin had been punctured were already a promising purple. Celestia studied the mark for a long while. It felt like a brand, like a claim of ownership. She prayed it wouldn't scar.

She saw that the dog wore a bandage too, a blue tarp wrapped securely around his back leg. He kept it raised, pulled in to his stomach slightly. It looked as though it might be painful.

"Looks like we've both been though the wars, buddy," Celestia said, being careful not to touch the wounded limb as she fussed the creature. Eventually she climbed out of the bed, the excitable hound following, the pair of them limping about the room; it hurt to walk on her aching toe, but far less intensely than it had the night before. One thing was certain; she wouldn't be running away, or anywhere, for a very long time.

The first thing on Celestia's mind was to find her clothes. Her own were nowhere to be found, so she uncomfortably settled for raiding the old oak wardrobe which stood in the corner of the room, being careful not to make much noise should the Snatcher come running and find her in such a state. With the fur blanket wrapped around herself and the bloodhound contently dripping saliva on the carpet at her feet, Celestia poured over her options; she felt as though she were plundering a highwayman's closet. All of the man's clothes were of a similar style; caddish, flamboyant, with the look of an eighteenth-century pirate who had just washed ashore, most probably drunk, having no idea what day or year it was. Celestia picked out a grey shirt and buttoned it quickly to the top, where it strained a little over her chest. When it came to trousers, she had no luck; his were all of the same tight-fitting cut as the outlandish plaid pair he had worn the night before, and were too narrow to pull over her hips. Instead Celestia unbuttoned the grey shirt and swapped it for a longer one, a dark burgundy piece which brushed the tops of her thighs. It was better than the nothing he had left her with.

Celestia took a moment to study her surroundings, pausing occasionally to fuss the pup as she went. The room was decorated with all sorts of trinkets, nestled away on shelves and huddled on desks. Most of the pieces were jewellery, though in amongst the clutter she also recognised a skiving snackbox and several remembralls. Celestia held one of the small orbs in her hand and frowned as she watched a red fog begin to swirl inside the glass. A sickly feeling rose in her stomach as she wondered if what she had forgotten might be related to the events of last night. Perhaps, she feared, it was better for her to forget.

The sundries decorating the small space looked as though they may have been owned by a hundred different people. As Celestia examined a few of them more closely she saw why; a golden ring here was engraved_ 'Amy and Doran, May 4th 1988.'_ A Silver locket hung over a vanity mirror held photos of a family of three, the tiny pictures moving, all smiling_._ She doubted they were smiling now. Everything had been stolen, she understood; taken from the Witches and Wizards captured by the criminal and his gang of ruffians.

Only he wasn't a criminal, Celestia reminded herself. What the Snatcher was doing was perfectly legal. And this now- keeping her hostage under his own roof- well, there were no explicit rules against that, either. Not that he seemed the type for following rules.

Celestia saw her own necklace had been left on the vanity and snatched it quickly away with an air of defiance, clipping it back around her neck where it belonged. She left the bedroom and found her way to the bathroom, passing one locked bedroom on the way. The house boasted plenty of mirrors, which didn't surprise Celestia; from the little she had learned of the Snatcher, the way he swaggered around like a peacock, it seemed natural that he should like looking at himself almost as much as he liked hearing the sound of his own voice. She locked the bathroom door behind herself, leaving her new companion whining outside.

The bathroom was small with a shower head over the bath, tiled with duck-egg blue,. There was a matted comb on the sink which was thick with reddish-brown hair. Celestia dared to look at herself in the mirror and was less than pleased with what she found looking back at her; the run through the forest and a night of sleep with her hair loose had left her usually tame locks all array, and there were twigs and traces of mulch tied up in the lengths. Her face was pale and blotchy, mascara packed beneath her eyes and having left the shy ghosts of tear tracks on her cheeks. She couldn't stand up straight and ached from head to foot. She looked very much a victim. The thought frustrated her as she took note of the various scrapes and bruises she had gathered the night before. Her knees were ravaged with cuts and both forearms were grazed.

Other than that she felt... fine. If he had touched her in any way, there were no physical signs of it. She felt better than fine, in fact; a night in a real bed had done her body a world of good. Then again, whatever he had given her in that draught had probably added to that effect. The liquid may not have been Veritaserum, but it certainly wasn't water, either. She felt angry, and frightened, but most intensely, violated.

When Celestia felt herself brave enough to hobble her way downstairs, there was no sign of the Snatcher. The cottage was empty but for herself and the lolloping dog. Trying her luck, the girl moved to the front door and braced her hand against the knob. She took a short breath as she twisted it, and found that the door opened inwards, revealing her simple escape down the cobbled path.

Celestia could hardly believe it. Not one to hesitate in moments such as these, the girl took a brisk step over the threshold... and found that her foot would not cross the door-frame. It was as though she had kicked a wall with her bandaged foot. Celestia gritted her teeth and swore under her breath. There was some sort of enchantment on the door, an invisible veneer which she could not penetrate, try as she might. As she pressed up against the translucent barrier, pushing with all her strength, like a mime practicing its act. A Muggle neighbour passed by across the street, walking a pet dog through the treeline. She waved and called out to him but he seemed neither to see or hear her.

Once the oblivious man had passed by, Celestia gave up her plight. She tried the same trick with the large front window of the cottage, opening it wide, but try as she might she could not break through the invisible net. She went to the back door of the house, which was also unlocked, but again was met with the impenetrable blockade. Behind her the bloodhound sat patiently, twitching his ears. Celestia looked at him in despair.

"You got any ideas?"

The bloodhound tilted his head, then with absolute ease passed through the invisible wall and began running about the garden as best he could on his wounded leg, darting in and out of a kennel, digging about and relieving himself. Celestia fought to break through for quite some time with no results, so long in fact that the dog grew bored of his adventuring and came back inside. The girl was about to close the door after him but gave pause as she noticed her clothes from the night before, swaying in the early autumn breeze, clipped to a washing line at the end of the long garden, half-hidden by another blossom tree. They danced teasingly out of reach, seemingly to taunt her.

Frustrated, Celestia slammed the door; she tried the back windows, too, throwing apart their curtains, but to no avail. The upstairs windows yielded the same results. She was thoroughly trapped within the little house. As if he'd given up too, the hound collapsed on the rug by the fireplace.

Celestia's mind turned instead to more nefarious means of escape. The egregious Snatcher might have warned her about touching either of their wands, but she hoped she would be brave enough to try if the opportunity arose. She had never cast a real curse before, had never had a reason to, but she imagined she could muster enough anger towards the man to cast a decent enough _Crucio_ to get him to tell her how to break the hex on the house. She searched the place for her own wand, but upon realising that wherever the Snatcher had gone, he had taken her companion with him, her attentions turned to the knife rack in the kitchen. She didn't like the idea of killing her captor, but she liked the idea of being locked up in Azkaban, where he would inevitably send her once he realised her family would not be paying to get her back or grew sick of her escape attempts, even less.

The perspex knife rack held an assortment of blades, thin ones and serrated ones and every other sort. They were made wholly of steel and they looked as though they could do plenty of damage. Celestia took the handle of the largest one and instantly regretted it, dropping the potential weapon to the ground where it's clattering gave the dog cause to bark madly.

Beneath her grasp, the handle of the knife had turned red-hot; Celestia saw that the palm of her hand had been badly burned, blisters already beginning to form. The dog took to barking, coming over to her to investigate. The young Witch ran her hand under a steady stream of tap water, swearing aloud as she did so, wincing at the pain. She stayed that way for a long time before examining the kitchen cupboards, touching them first with the back of her hand to ensure that they too would not try to maim her. She was relieved to find cling film, which she wrapped generously around her palm, then took to sulking in the blue velvet chair in the corner, quite sick of her plight.

Sulking soon turned to tears her thoughts turned once again to Al. The Snatcher- _Scabior,_ the others had called him, that much she remembered- had said that his companions would not kill Aloxus, but the things they had said the night before didn't align with their leader's promise. She remembered everything he had endured last night, thought of what he might be suffering now, and felt stupid and selfish for how sorry she felt for herself, and how little her thoughts had been of her friend. She beckoned the hound to her, where he sat down at her feet; she soon got down onto the floor with him, hugging him close.

All of this, she knew, had been her fault. They had been quite safe in the sleepy Muggle town, completely undetected since the raid on Aloxus' family home; it had been a miracle that they had escaped the Death Eaters then, and now her stupid mistake might have cost her closest friend- one of the only true friends she had left- his life. If not his life, then definitely his freedom. The best they could hope for now would be to share a cell in Azkaban together. What she wouldn't give for them to be able to go home.

Celestia stayed trapped in her thoughts for a long time until the dog jumped up from the carpet and darted to the front door, barking all the way; Celestia stood quickly to appear as though she had not been doing anything suspicious, which of course she hadn't. Yellow eyes looked back at her from the painting of the stern-looking woman above the fireplace. Celestia wiped away the last of her tears and tried to make herself look less of a wreck, and more the figure of a capeable woman.

"Alright, Jinxy, that's enough!" Scabior said, entering the room with a smile, the dog dancing about his legs as he placed two carrier bags down on the kitchen counter. It took him a moment to even notice Celestia.

"Oh, now there's a sight to come home to. You're awake, then. I was thinking you might sleep 'till sundown, sparked out as you were. Been raiding my wardrobe, 'ave we? No mind; looks better than you than it does on me. Do those legs go all the way up?"

Celestia pulled self-consciously at the hem of the shirt. The image of the Wizard who had last night hunted her through the forest smiling at her fondly as he unpacked his supermarket shopping was momentarily too bizarre to bear.

"Yeah, well apparently all of your jeans have shrunk in the wash," Celestia answered him. There was righteous anger in her voice. "What did you do to me, you pervert?"

Scabior was a little taken aback. "'Ey, 'ey, that's no way to greet a man when he steps through 'is own door-"

"You drugged me!"

"Don't be daft, it was only a little sleeping draught," he retorted, finishing off emptying the bags; copious amounts of meat, liquor, and more liquor. "...Well, quite a lot, actually. Can you blame a man for wanting a bit of piece and quiet, after listening to you scream your head off like a harpy; I had things to do, and I could see you weren't going to quit your yapping anytime soon. Don't you feel so much better after your sleep? Fancy a whiskey?"

"You are an absolute-!"

"Yeah, yeah, give over, darling, I've heard it all before. You might want to remember who you're talking to before you go finishing that sentence."

"Or what, you'll bite me again? Feed me to your Werewolf friend?"

"I've got more than one," he responded coolly, and took a glass tumbler out of one of the cupboards. "Sure I can't tempt you?"

"I'm not drinking anything you give me after last night."

Scabior frowned, half filling the glass. The look she was giving irritated him.

"Blimey, you really do think I'm some sort of weird nonce, don't you?"

Celestia continued to scowl. "You do give off that impression."

"Now come on, I've had enough of you eyeballing me like I'm some sort of degenerate. I took your clothes of you so I could bandage you up and wash the grime out. I hardly think your Ma and Pa'd be too chuffed if I brought you home covered in mud and blood and smelling like a dead badger."

Celestia didn't look entirely convinced. Scabior lifted his eyes up to heaven. He had been trying his best to keep things cordial. He came closer to her so that their faces were inches apart. The girl stepped backwards; he quickly closed the space between them.

"Oh, give me strength… listen, sweet'art, it's like this. If I was going to 'ave you you'd know about it." He paused to pick a piece of stray bark out of her hair. "Call me a _radical, _but I prefer my women at least conscious when it's time to dive under the duvet… though I'd be lying if I said undressing you was a burden. Sweet as you might be, I'm trying to make a profit here. I reckon my asking price goes down significantly if Mummy and Daddy find out I've been 'aving my wicked way with their little Princess."

Celestia raised a hand to push him back; as she did he caught it, seeing the burn there. His eyes glowered, but his mouth smiled.

"Tried making a sandwich, 'ave we?"

Celestia tried to pull away. His grip tightened. There was a menacing twitch at the corner of the girl's mouth as she answered him.

"Something like that."

Scabior clicked his tongue. He released her and moved back into the kitchen, opening a can of the dog food and emptying it into a bowl.

"Jinx!" he called, and the bloodhound lolloped happily over, his long ears sweeping the floor as he began to eat.

"He's a good dog," Scabior said, going through several of the cupboards. "Dumb as tree-sap, which is rare for a bloodhound, but he's got quite the nose on him."

"What happened to his leg?"

"Same thing that happened to your arm; Greyback, the swine. Animals don't like his kind, they've got a nose for it, and one day I suppose Fenrir got sick of Jinxy always barking at him and snapped at him. He'd have done a lot worse if I hadn't sensed it was about to happen; quick Crucio brought old Ugly back to his senses. It nearly broke into a proper fight, and I told the Ministry I wanted shot of 'im, but they said _Oh no, Mr. Scabior sir, we can't allow that, the Werewolf has been assigned to your division_… basically, _'he's your problem, not ours.'_ Bloody time-wasters. So Jinx had to go instead; old biddy next door has been feeding him and making sure he sleeps outside in his kennel while I've been away. It'll be a few more weeks before he's back to his old self, but I won't be sending him out there again, now while the Mongrel is still around."

Celestia was surprised by the revelation. "You use him for Snatching?"

"'Course I do, It'd be a crime not to, with a nose like that. No magic, that's my rule with tracking; that's why my team is the best. Your kind never suspect a thing when we're following 'em half the time if there's no magic to detect. Just good instincts, smarts and a good sense of smell. I provide the instincts an' the smarts, Jinx provides the smell. The rest of 'em… well, I don't know what they do really, other than piss me off to no end and take a share of the money."

Scabior finally found what he was looking for; a pot of ointment. Celestia recognised the stuff from her own home; her dad kept three tubs in the bathroom cupboard.

"Other Wizards might prefer magical means, but I swear by this stuff. Say what you like about Muggle inventions, but they do get some things right. Plumbing, for example... come on, lovely, let me have a look at it."

Timidly, Celestia offered her hand. He took it in his own and set about treating the wound.

"Is there a reason why your cutlery tried to cripple me?"

Scabior chuckled, smoothing a layer of the ointment to her blistered palm, then reaching for a bandage and winding it around her hand.

"Clever, isn't it? Just a little hex I came up with. Works on the knives, chemicals, any other undesirables you might think of using to butter my bread. Just a precaution encase you get any ideas in that pretty little head of yours. Everything works fine for me, obviously."

_"Obviously._ Sounds like you've done this before."

"I've had a few other guests spend the night, I'll admit."

Celestia shuddered.

"Does that feel better?"

"Yes," the girl admitted. Scabior smiled; she refused to catch his eye.

"You don't have to look at me like I'm the Devil all the time, you know... there we go, it looks much neater, at least. Just something else to explain to Mommy and Daddy when we pay them a visit."

"I told you already, you can do what you like to me. I'm not telling you where my family live."

"Don't need you to. Ain't you wondered where I've been all morning? At the library."

"I'm surprised you can read."

"There's a little of that Slytherin sting," he smiled. He was still holding her hand. Celestia freed herself, embarrassed, and crossed to the other side of the room. Jinx finished his meal and took to lapping at his water-bowl noisily; Scabior bent down to rub his back. "Good thing about the Carrows running Hogwarts is we've got free reign of the place. You can find almost anything in that library, things that you'd be hard pressed to find anywhere else."

Celestia pondered the thought of some poor first-year struggling to complete their Transfiguration homework while this nutcase stomped his way around the library. It was both amusing and depressing to think of how Hogwarts had changed since she had been a student.

"I tracked down your family's estate," Scabior said, shattering her thoughts. "It's quite something."

Celestia felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "It's not exactly an_ estate."_

"We'll get you fed and looking presentable then when it starts to get dark I'll take you home."

"I told you, we have nothing."

"And_ I_ told _you,_ I'm not as stupid as _you_ look. Here; something new to wear." Scabior handed her something he'd brought home with him, a little branded paper carrier with tubed handles, taped at the top. Inside was a matching set of underwear in a shameless brothel red. The lack of subtlety was no surprise to Celestia.

"Thanks," she said, unsure whether or not she meant it.

"Not a problem. If you're feeling _really_ grateful you could always do some of the 'ouse work in it."

Celestia glared at him. He smiled, the points of his teeth showing wickedly.

"It was a joke, darlin', let your face know. I'll get your clothes in off the line then you can go and scrub yourself up. Your jacket's shredded so I just Banished it; I've plenty of coats you can borrow. Here's a toothbrush, n'all. You can use the shower and there's a hairbrush in the bathroom."

"That hairbrush looks as though it's about to grow legs and crawl away."

"Yeah, well, beggars being choosers and all that," Scabior called, already outside in the garden. Jinx followed him out, taking another hobbled run around the lawn. Celestia tried once more to cross the threshold between the cottage and the outside world but found herself met with the invisible barrier again, this time noticing a light shimmer beneath her touch. Scabior turned and threw her dry clothes to her; they passed through the barrier with ease. Celestia frowned at the injustice of it.

"Don't look so bloody wounded," Scabior barked, pinning the pegs back onto the line. "You could have it a lot worse, you know."

"What, like your other _'guests?'"_

Scabior sucked his teeth at her. Again she had touched a nerve.

"Like I said, darlin'; a _lot_ worse."

Celestia turned on her heel, taking her clothes, and marched upstairs as defiantly as her injured toe would allow her.

"Oh, and one more thing," Scabior called, stopping her in her tracks. "You get any ideas about threatening to 'urt my dog, and I'll chop you up and feed you to 'im."

Celestia looked stunned. "Why on Earth would I do that?"

Scabior touched his foot to Jinx's side, rubbing him affectionately. The bloodhound stretched out an appreciative paw. "Let's just say it wouldn't be the first time."

Shaking her head, Celestia shut herself into the bathroom. She was thankful for the lock on the door; not that it mattered much, with a Wizard in the house, but she found comfort in knowing it was there all the same. She turned on the shower and undressed as she waited for it to splutter into life, removing the bandage from her upper arm. As she stepped inside, she found that the drain was clogged with a mess of hair.

"Wonderful," Celestia muttered, feeling a little sick. She stood as far away from the matted mess as possible, keeping her bandaged hand out of the flow, and allowed the water to run over her arm where the Werewolf had savaged her. The damage looked worse than it felt. There would be no getting away from a scar with that deep of a wound, though, not without magical intervention.

There was, to Celestia's amazement, soap after all. The young Witch thought it both unhygienic and somewhat repulsive to use a bar of soap that had been anywhere near the Snatcher's body, however, and all together stayed away from it. There was dried blood in the lengths of her hair, whether her own or Aloxus' she had no clue; luckily, there was also plenty of shampoo, a little of which Celestia used as a substitute for the soap. She examined her hands beneath the flow; at some point since her capture she had ripped her nails off down to the quick, bitten so badly that they were painful and bleeding at parts. They had been in a terrible state since she had first been forced to go on the run, but never as bad as they were now.

She stood and shivered for a moment as she allowed a generous amount of conditioner to sit in her locks, working out leftover pieces of leaf and twig. There was quite the array of products, all boasting to do different things- words like _volume, lustre_ and _shine_ leapt out at Celestia from the packaging. It didn't surprise her that a man of Scabior's disposition would care so much for his hair and so little for anything else. Again, they were all Muggle products; it was unusual to see a Wizard so reliant upon the Muggle world and immersed in its practices. Most Wizards brought their essentials from Wizarding villages, and did everything by magical means; the concept of even a clothes line was primitive, when with a flick of a wand the washing could be dried and folded. It seemed Scabior preferred a more hands-on approach.

Dried and dressed, her hair still wet down her back, Celestia descended the stairs in her freshly laundered clothes. There was no getting away from the brown mark on the left shoulder of her dress which told the story of her attack by the wolf.

"Looking good," Scabior said, brushing past her, his hand resting against her waist for a brief moment; he paused to lean into her hair. "Mmm. Smelling better. _Orchard apple,_ if I'm not mistaken. Good choice on the conditioner."

He handed her the pot of antibiotic ointment, and Celestia sat down, her heart skipping a little from the too-close contact. She set about reapplying the thick goo to her upper arm and the scrapes on her knees while her captor moved back to the kitchen.

"Now I'm not much of a cook," he said, "but I've got us these. Ten minutes in the microwave and _bam!_ We're kushty. I hope you like shepherd's pie."

"You use a lot of Muggle stuff."

"Well, the dog ain't really keen on magic, sets him barking like mad when things start flying about the house, and my mum, bless her soul, was never all that much of a Witch. Didn't have the patience for it, in her condition. I'm quite good with a wand, if I do say so myself, but I prefer to keep things homely. I don't have time for Wizards so lazy they can't even sweep a floor without enchanting the broom."

Celestia examined the carpets. No broom had touched the floor in quite some time, enchanted or not. She thought it better not to say so out loud.

Ten minutes later, dinner was served. They sat together at the kitchen counter. As Scabior pulled the plastic sheeting from his microwave meal and dove in, Celestia poked at her own with a fork. She skimmed off the top layer of mashed potatoes, but stayed clear of the rest.

"Wha's'matter?" Scabior frowned, through a mouthful of mince. "Safeway's finest, that is. Is it too 'ot for ya? ...You're not a bloody vegetarian, are you?"

Celestia cringed a little, shrugging uncomfortably.

"Course you bloody are. Ungrateful little nymph. You're lucky I'm not feeding you dog food; you're lucky I'm feeding you at all."

"My parent's definitely won't want me back if I've been starved to death," Celestia said in a deadpan fashion.

"They might do. They could have you stuffed, use you as a hat-stand."

Celestia's stomach rolled. The sudden vision of her own taxidermied corpse, however ridiculous, made her uneasy. Scabior let out a throaty sigh.

"Again, a joke. No need to look all_ 'woe-is-me'_. Worse things have happened at sea. Things could have gone a lot worse for you after last night."

"As you keep reminding me."

"Yeah. Maybe one of these days I'll get a thank-you for it." Scabior suddenly got up and began rummaging through a kitchen cupboard; he withdrew a chocolate frog, gave it a fond shake and tossed it to the girl.

"'Ere you are, pudding. Guess Jinx'll just have to eat yours."

Celestia smiled at the packaging; it was the first smile he'd seen from her. It was shy, a little embarrassed. Still, a smile suited her. She turned the packaging over in her hands, running her fingers across the gold foil. The frog inside gave a muffled croak.

"I always hated opening these things," Celestia said, the unease drained out of her voice, as though she'd forgotten the unfriendly company she was in. "I remember the first time I had one, on the Hogwarts Express. No one had warned me they could jump. Is that where you developed a sweet tooth?"

"At Hogwarts? No, love. We could hardly afford our robes in my family, forget sweets. I'm making up for it now though. E'are, pass it here."

Scabior took the magical confectionery back from her and began to carefully unwrap it; Jinx was summoned to his side by the rustling, and Scabior warned him off as he opened up the box. The frog came bounding out, and gave a feeble leap across the tabletop, narrowly escaping the jaws of the curious bloodhound; Scabior trapped it under his empty whiskey glass, where it hopped about hopelessly. As the frog exhausted itself, Celestia pulled the complementary trading card from the packaging; she held it up to the light, where the smiling face of a rotund woman beamed back at her, blinking sweetly.

"Helga Hufflepuff," Celestia said, showing the Snatcher the card.

"You must have a lucky streak," he complimented. "It's not very often you'll get much more than a Dumbledore or a Godric Gryffendor these days. I've got about ten Gilderoy Lockhart's stuffed away in a drawer somewhere, poncy twat."

The frog gave a last desperate leap then began to shudder. Scabior waited for the ill-fated creature to stop jittering then removed the glass with a dramatic flair as though it were a cloche, presenting it to Celestia.

"Your dessert, _mademoiselle."_

He saw her fight to restrain a smile at his antics as she bit off the frog's back leg and couldn't help but feel a little fondness towards her. With the fondness came guilt, and an eagerness to get her out of his home as quickly as possible.

Scabior pointed at her bare feet with his fork. Jinx was lying at her feet, looking up hopefully for any scraps.

"How's that toe feeling?"

"Not too bad."

"It was broken, you know. I thought you were dragging yourself along last night just to make my life 'arder, but you really 'ad hurt yourself. Nothing a quick _'Episkey'_ couldn't fix. Again, you're welcome."

"...Thank you," Celestia managed, with some effort. That made the Snatcher smirk. He cuffed a finger beneath her chin.

"You're welcome, my lovely. Scoff that down then go put your shoes on, if you can manage it. They're in the cupboard under the stairs."

Tension gripped Celestia's chest. The Snatcher poured another glass of whiskey and downed it in one.

"We're going somewhere?"

"Don't you listen? I told you, I'm taking you home."

Celestia swallowed back a mouthful of chocolate, and by the way her stomach turned the charmed frog might as swell still have been squirming. She knew that this could only end badly.


	4. Chapter Four: Stately Living

**Chapter Four: Stately Living**

Try as she might, Celestia could not dissuade the Snatcher from an expedition to her home. She went over and over her arguments from before, but it was no use; the Wizard had his mind set upon dragging her back to her family home and causing an upset. As things became more heated, Celestia had little choice but to do as she was told, putting her shoes on and waiting in the hallway as the Snatcher pottered around upstairs, the bloodhound limping after him. He returned with a coat similar to the black one he was now wearing, but in a pale tan leather. The left sleeve bore the red sash of the Snatcher's guild.

"Whatcha doing standing out there for?"

Celestia looked to the front door. "We're going out, aren't we?"

Scabior shook his wand in her direction, looking at her as though she'd gone quite mad. _"Magic,_ remember? Or have you forgotten already, being without your wand?"

He helped the reluctant girl into his spare coat. She frowned at the red fabric knotted around the sleeve, feeling uneasy at boasting such a blazing symbol of hate. When the Snatcher offered his hand she was reluctant to take it.

"Let's not have a war over this," he said softly, with just a shimmer of threat. Jinx whimpered, sensing he was about to be left alone. Celestia took the Snatcher's hand, and in a moment the two were gone.

The familiar pull of apparition tugged as Celestia's insides, knotting them like writing serpents, and in less that a moment their surroundings had changed. The pair stood in a hazy alleyway, at the end of which a homeless man out of his mind on some substance was sat. He stared at the pair who had appeared out of thin air, but seemed not to think much of it. Scabior was relieved at his passiveness and flipped him a galleon for his disinterest as he passed by, dragging along the girl with him.

"Don't inject it all at once, mate," he said, pulling Celestia out into the open. At the mouth of the alley way she saw that they were in the middle of a town centre, the bustle of which was simmering as the working day drew to a close.

"Home sweet home," Scabior said, but Celestia didn't recognise the town centre at all; it was certainly not her own. His hand was still in hers; she tried to pull away as they walked futher down the street, and after a moment's struggle he pulled her into the cover of another alley, pinning her against the cold brick wall with one hand and pointing a finger in her face.

"Alright, Veela, _drop it._ You are _not_ causing a scene out there in front of all those bloody Muggles."

"I wouldn't have to cause a scene if you'd just let me go-"

He withdrew the wand holstered at his side and muttered an incantation; Celestia felt the increasingly familiar sensation of the silencing jinx being placed upon her.

"I told you you'd get what you ask for with me. Don't try anything out there or I'll be the one who's causing a scene, and believe me, you wouldn't like that. Now come on, get moving; right foot, left foot, your body will follow. They call it walking."

The Witch mouthed an insult at the Snatcher, which was the most she could manage. He winked before grabbing her hand again, leading her out of the alley way and down the street. Celestia stumbled along beside him, picking up the pace as they passed by shops pulling down their shutters and shoppers saddled with bags of goods.

"There we go, isn't this better? Anyone'd think we're just a lovely bit o' skirt and her very 'andsome sugar daddy, enjoying a bit of early Christmas shopping. Behave yourself and I'll buy you something nice."

He kissed her on the cheek teasingly, but immediately regretted it when she squirmed away and he almost lost his grip on her. He hissed something in her ear, the altercation drawing disapproving stares from passers by, all aimed in his direction. He stopped teasing her after that.

After a short while they came to a taxi bay, and Scabior summoned a cab. He manoeuvred Celestia into the back seat and climbed in after her, handing the driver a crumpled piece of paper with an address written on it. He secured Celestia's seat belt for her, ensuring that she sat in the centre seat close beside him, holding a firm arm around her shoulders should she show any sign of struggle.

Not by choice, Celestia kept quiet as they began their journey, looking anywhere but at the Snatcher. As they drove along side roads Scabior nattered along with the driver, quickly building up a friendly rapport; he was as charming to the taxi driver as he had been to the old lady who was his neighbour. His fingers traced up into Celestia's hair as he chatted, playing with her locks absent-mindedly as they rumbled across the country side. Though Celestia would never have admitted it, it was not wholly unpleasant.

Eventually they came to the end of a long drive and the cab pulled up. The driveway was walled either side with thick green hedges which were taller than the Snatcher was and towered over Celestia. Scabior chose to obliviate rather than pay the driver, waving him off with a smile. Once he was gone the Wizard removed the silencing charm, and an irate Celestia breathed much easier.

"That was a crappy thing to do. He must have drove us nearly an hour."

"Yeah, well I haven't got any Muggle money on me. Don't worry, he won't hold a grudge."

It was early evening now, and the sky had taken on a hazy violet hue. At the end of the path was a beautiful manor house, all dark grey brick and gargoyles. Celestia stared at it, dumbfounded.

"Couldn't we have just apparated here?"

"Well I've never been here before, have I? And I was hardly going to hand over my wand and let you work some magic."

"I've never been here before either. Where the hell are we?"

"Let's not play silly beggars, love. You can't hide behind that hair colour anymore; I know you're not as dumb as you look. Sooner we get this done, sooner I can get my money and you can go back to playing happy families. Everyone's a winner."

He began dragging her up the path. Celestia pulled back. There was a sickly feeling in her stomach, more than just the ghost of apparation.

"This isn't my house," she said, resisting the firm grip on her upper arm. The grip only became more tenacious.

"Stop being a prat," Scabior snapped. "I poured over all the books on the old Wizarding families, every one I found says this is the Monanchor estate."

"They must be other Monanchor's."

"There ain't no other Monanchors," Scabior barked impatiently, though there was a trickle of self-doubt in his voice. Celestia could do nothing but allow herself to be pulled along, limping pathetically. It frightened her to see him angry. What might be behind that black timber door frightened her more.

They stopped at the entrance to the manor, hovering on the slate steps. Scabior could feel the girl shaking in his grip. Dismissing her panic, he held her firmly so that she couldn't take off on him and rasped his gloved hand thrice against the door. When nothing happened, he reached for the door-knocker, but it refused to move.

"Bloody thing's stuck," the Snatcher muttered, pulling firmly at it. He banged harder on the door, but still nothing happened.

"Maybe they're not in," Celestia piped up.

"That'd be just my luck," Scabior seethed, wrenching again at the door knocker, cursing it beneath his breath; it was an intricate, twisted length of iron, moulded with a scaly pattern that glinted as it caught the light. As the Snatcher went to the nearest window to look inside the property, Celestia felt the detailed metal, allowing her fingers to curl around it; after a moment the knocker made a muffled sound as though it were being gagged. Startled, Celestia pulled her hand quickly away. The metal began to curl and took on the shape of a snake. Seeing what was happening, the Snatcher returned quickly to the door.

_"What businessssss do you have here?"_ the serpent asked, winding about in place.

"Uh... returning something that was lost?" Scabior answered after a moment, unsettled by the sentient knocker. "A... long-lost relative."

The serpent coiled for a second, seemingly in contemplation.

_"...Procccccceed."_

The door opened of its own accord. On its other side stood a tiny House-Elf. She could be no more than two feet tall, and wore a grey tabard in dire need of washing. Her eyes, like two pale lunaries, stared up in wonder at the guests. She gave a slight curtsy as Scabior and Celestia crossed the threshold.

"Welcome to the Monanchor Mansion, Mister and Miss."

Scabior seemed uncomfortable. "Umm... yeah. Thanks. Where's your Master?"

"In the study, sir. Sanchie shall take you to him."

Celestia followed the tug at her arm, a black cloud of foreboding hanging over her head; she had a deep, uneasy feeling that something bad was bound to happen. The little Elf began to shuffle her way along the corridor and up the stairs. Scabior followed, but he looked somewhat unnerved and was clearly keeping his distance.

"You're _scared_ of her," Celestia whispered accusingly over his shoulder. His hand was still firmly clinging to her.

"Don't be bloody ridiculous," he scalded; still, he kept well back.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Sanchie knocked on the nearest door with her tiny fist. A man's voice gave them permission to enter.

"Visitors, Master," the little Elf said, the first to enter the room.

"Who is it?" a man's voice barked sternly.

"Sanchie has forgotten to inquire, Sir. Apologies, apologies."

Realising she hadn't learned who she was letting into her Master's house, the Elf looked up at Scabior expectantly, her saucepan eyes glittering. Celestia still hovered behind the door. Scabior tugged at his collar, which seemed suddenly too tight.

"I'm a... uh… free-lance law enforcer for the Ministry."

"Oh," Sanchie said, content with his answer. She turned back to her Master, quite satisfied. "A filthy Snatcher it is, sir."

"Oi, watch it, midget-!"

"-And a girl."

Scabior pulled Celestia into the room, where she stood quite uncomfortably in the large study with its velvet wallpaper and high ceilings. The Master of the House, who was sitting in a chair behind a large oak desk, looked at her over his round spectacles.

It was not the reunion Scabior had expected. The old man looked too advanced in years to be her father, but that was not what surprised him most; there was no rush of emotion, no relief at seeing the girl returned home safe after what might have been months on the run with her Mudblood-supporting friends. In fact, there was nothing to suggest he even knew her. The old man cleared his throat.

"And what business do the two of you have here?"

There was a long pause as all parties concerned stared at each other. The girl looked visibly terrified. The Snatcher looked confused. The old man looked annoyed. The Elf looked between all of them, slightly bemused.

"I expect you have a good reason for barging into my home at the days end. You say you've something that belongs to me?"

Scabior couldn't seem to find the words. Instead he reached back to Celestia and yanked her forwards into the light, holding her at arm's length by the wrist. Perhaps the old man was just a little blind, even with his spectacles.

As Scabior brought the girl closer for inspection, the gentleman stood. He was very tall, almost as high as the bookcases around him. His expression turned from one of annoyance to surprise, as he pushed his glasses high up onto his nose.

"Where did you find it?"

"She was running about in the woods like a Dryad gone demented when I nabbed her. Dangerous place for a young woman to be, especially in times like these. Thought you'd be grateful if I brought her back home, where she belongs."

The old man was hardly listening. He stopped short before Celestia, grabbed her bruised hand from the Snatcher and held it up to his spectacles.

"Where did you get it?"

Scabior's face fell. He understood now what he had misinterpreted before. The silver ring glittered enticingly on his captive's hand.

"My mother gave it to me," Celestia said quietly.

"Don't speak such nonsense. Give it to me."

"No," Celestia said, wrenching her hand away and holding it close to her chest. The serpent ring winked teasingly in the light, inviting a tousle. The old man's face turned thunderous.

"Naturally you'll be wanting payment. I'd expect nothing less from your sort."

He returned to the oak desk, almost sprinting, and took out a sack full of Galleons. Scabior's eyes lit up like fireworks at the sound of the gold jingling merrily.

"For it's safe return. 500 Galleons."

He held out his hand for the ring expectantly. Scabior seemed to have no idea what was going on, but could hardly believe his luck. He took the bag of Galleons from the old man with a beaming grin.

"Pleasure doing business with you, boss. And how much for the girl?"

"That ring was stolen years ago," the man said to Scabior, interrupting the odd question. "How did you come by it?"

"I told you," Celestia said, annoyed at being bypassed and with a little of her bravery returning, "my mother gave it to me. It was my Grandmother's-"

"It most certainly was _not-!"_

"-I'm Cressida's daughter!"

The old man was suddenly perfectly still. His mouth hung open, forgetting whatever he had been about to say. Those blue eyes looked into hers, really looked, for the first time.

"You can't be."

"I'm Celestia Monanchor. The ring was my Grandmother's, Celeste's."

At the sound of the name, the old man seemed to coil inwards.

"You're Mordecai, aren't you? My Grandfather."

Celestia looked up into the eyes of the man, frozen. Her own eyes, the eyes of her mother, too, stared back at her. Scabior looked between the pair of them, trying to make sense of it all. For once in his life, he stayed quiet.

The man, Mordecai, was quiet for a long time too. He looked at the girl, really studied her face for a long time. No one said a word, frozen.

"You almost look like her," the old man said wistfully. "My Celeste."

There was another very long pause. The old man cleared his throat before turning to the Snatcher and saying,

"I'll give you 1,000 Galleons for the ring. Sanchie will call the bank and have them draw out the other 500 from the family vault. It will be ready for you to collect tomorrow morning. Take it or go."

Scabior looked at him, confused.

"...For the ring? You ain't bothered about your… she's your what, your Granddaughter?"

Celestia's breathing was audible. The old man would not even look at her.

"Do we have a deal, sir?"

The Snatcher chewed it over for a moment, looking stunned. Celestia was staring blankly into the fireplace, her eyes brimming with tears which she would not allow to fall. She was shaking all over. Scabior shook his head at the old man.

"I'll tell you what, old timer, how's about this for a deal; you can shove your Galleons up your wrinkly old arse, one by one. We're off."

"What?"

_"What?"_

"Come on, doll face," the Snatcher said, grabbing the girl with one hand, the bag of Galleons securely in his other. "Let's get out of here."

"That ring belonged to my wife, it belongs _here-!"_

The Snatcher took a step back, out of the old man's reach.

"You ain't long left for this world, Grandpa. And being as old as you are, you ought have learned by now to grab hold of a good thing when you see it. _Ta-ta."_

There was a cry of_ "wait-!",_ a squeak from the House-Elf, and in a flash the two intruders had vanished.

There was a sound like a car backfiring as Scabior and Celestia apparated at the end of the long drive, both a little breathless from the launch. Scabior turned quickly from the house and began marching them away as fast as he could get her moving on her injured foot.

"Bloody Nora. You gonna explain what the hell all that was about?"

Celestia began to jog to keep up, wincing in pain, trying to ignore the nausea she felt from more than just the apparition. She hardly knew herself. The tears had spilled, but were drying quickly on her cheeks.

"Can we talk about it once we get back?"

_'Get back',_ Scabior thought. _Now I'm stuck with her and she knows it. Bloody hell._

"Some family reunion," the Snatcher said, when he felt far away from the house that there was no longer a need to keep pace encase of any dogs, Matagots or other creatures the old coot might set on them. "Miserable old bastard. Still-" he jingled the hefty bag of Galleons in his hand- "we managed to silch 'im out of 500 smackers."

_"We?"_

"Of course! That was a team effort, that. I turned on the charm, you turned on the tears."

"I assume we'll be splitting the profits."

"Ooh, I wouldn't go that far... still, I might be persuaded to buy you an ice-cream out of my new-found fortune. Whad'you say?"

It was hardly what Celestia had been expecting; then again, she thought, the whole experience had thus far been something of a roller-coaster. Normality seemed to have gone out of the window… for now, at least, any distraction from her increasingly disjointed reality would be a relief.

"Ice cream sounds good," Celestia affirmed, unable to hold back a laugh. It was a sad, sagging thing, more sorrow than joy, but she laughed all the same, and felt a little better for it.

The ice-cream parlour that Scabior apparated them to was, according to him, the best spot for gelato in all of London. It was, however, closed at such a time of night, so he ended up taking her to a pub on the corner of a nearby street. He pulled a wallet from the depths of his pockets and began counting how much money he had on him; they were notes rather than coins.

"I thought you said you didn't have any Muggle money on you?"

Scabior licked his finger, flicking through the notes. "That was just to shut you up, the nagging angel on my shoulder. Half a ton for a taxi?! You'd have to be crackers to pay those prices. After you."

As they stepped into the bustling pub, Celestia got a feel for the place right away. It was dour, run-down, and decidedly British; it was not the sort of place she would usually want to spend much time. The air was thick with smoke and laughter, yellow wallpaper stains standing monument to the saturation of tobacco. Loud seventies music was playing from a jukebox in the corner, and a noisy television overhead played the local news; it was a story about a particularly nasty robbery at a local off-license. It seemed odd that the Muggle world should have time to care about such trivial things when there was a war on, that they could be so oblivious to the battle being waged for their liberty, all of it happening right under their noses.

As Celestia tried to track down a table near the door a couple of the pub's patrons tried to engage with her using the same pseudo-friendly sentiments she'd heard in similar establishments a hundred times before; she was quite immune to such comments. She ignored the men and sat down at a small table covered in sticky beermats and empty glasses. She grimaced as her elbow stuck to the table.

"Bit rough in here, isn't it?"

"Rough as a dog's arse, but you've got no reason to worry about that. If it all kicks off, I'm here. After all that ridiculousness we could both do with a drink."

"I'll just have a lemonade."

"You're real prissy," he remarked, taking a tenner out of his wallet before placing the loaded leather pouch down on the table. "Suit yourself, sunshine."

Scabior drifted to the bar and waited to be served. Celestia surveyed the room again; the longer she looked, the fonder of the place she became. The air was unbreathable, the patrons were unwashed, but at least there were people, at least there was some semblance of normality. These were the sort of men her dad would drink with in his own local on a Saturday night, the type of men who might remark how much she'd grown from the last time she'd seen them and hug her for a second too long.

The only other woman she could spot through the fog in the bar was working behind it. She was a pretty woman in her mid-forties, with lank dark hair tied up behind her head. Celestia could see Scabior trying to work his charm on her, though like most bar workers she seemed to have built up an immunity to such teasing, and poured him his beer with an expression verging on disdain. He seemed to be lecturing her on the specifics of her drink-pouring, and for a moment, he was distracted.

Celestia looked at the wallet on the table. It was smoky enough in here that she might just make it out of the door without him catching her. She leafed through the wallet; there was upwards of a hundred quid still left in it. She could grab herself a taxi or jump on a train. It was an opportunity she could not afford to let pass by.

As though nothing were out of the ordinary Celestia stood up from the table, the wallet in her hand, her eyes settled firmly on the Snatcher's back. It looked as though the barmaid was softening to his charms, a quirk of a smile on her face as she poured Celestia's lemonade. Silently Celestia moved towards the door, through the crowd. She was just about to step out into the foyer when a drunken man old enough to be her father smiling in front of her, blocking her path.

"Leaving so soon, Blondie? Don't you fancy a dance?"

Celestia smiled, the fake grimace she'd perfected for times such as these.

"Not tonight mate, family emergency-"

"It takes at least a couple of drinks to get this one dancing," said a familiar voice, and any fleeting hope Celestia had felt flittered away. She turned to find Scabior stood to her side, a drink in either hand. Smiling, he motioned her back to the table. As they walked away from the drunk, he growled into her ear.

"Where did you think you were goin', love? Got lost on your way to the ladies, did ya?"

Celestia's heart forgot how to beat. "I was just-"

"Don't bother, just sit down," he hissed, his tone vaguely threatening. Once he'd thumped the drinks down onto their coasters he snatched the wallet off her.

"I didn't have you pinned down as the artful dodger type. I was wandering if you'd try it."

Celestia took her seat against the wall. "I'm not a thief. I'm just desperate."

"I've never been known to say no to a desperate woman. Where were you gonna go? There's nothing open this time of night round here, I'd have tracked you down in five minutes. Finding people who don't want to be found is my job, remember."

"You can hardly blame me for trying. Wouldn't you try, if the tables were turned?"

"Oh here we go again,_ 'woe is me.'_ Shut your mush and drink your lemonade."

Celestia took a sip, glad that things hadn't escalated. A few more sips in, she detected notes of something suspicious.

"What's in this?"

"Vodka; only a single, so don't get your knickers in a twist."

Celestia frowned. "I told you I didn't want any alcohol."

"You strike me as the kind of woman who doesn't have a clue what she really wants. Neck it back and I'll buy you another. Let's have it, then- what deep dark family drama did I just accidentally unearth in my quest to make a few smackers? Felt like I was in an episode of bloody Eastenders."

"You watch _Eastenders?"_

"'Course not. Me Mum loved it, though."

Celestia hid a smirk. "Mine does, too."

"Cracking TV. I'm telling you, these hoity-toity types who won't touch anything Muggle-made are missing out. Come on then, let's hear it."

Celestia took another sip of the hard lemonade, worrying over it in her mouth. Perhaps it would be better to play her cards closer to her chest, but she wouldn't get away without telling him at least the basics. Besides, the revelations of the evening had made her emotional, and she felt a burning needed to talk.

"The Monanchor's used to be your classic old Wizarding family. Very elitist, no tolerance for Muggle-borns or even half-bloods. My Grandfather was an only child and the last to carry on the Monanchor name. He and my Grandmother had the perfect little family until my two uncles started to grow up and it became clear that neither of them had any magic."

Scabior cocked an eyebrow. "They were Squibs? Both of 'em?"

Celestia nodded. "Twins. My Mum was their last hope, really. Grandma Celeste was getting too old to have children, so it was a miracle when she came. But a Hogwarts letter never came for her, either. My Grandfather tried to cover it up by buying her way into Ilvermony, convinced that she was just a late bloomer and that if they'd only give her a chance to learn she'd blossom into a true Witch, but it never happened; after her first year in America she came back home, and all the private tutoring in the world couldn't make their three Squib children into Witches and Wizards. Mum said it was a living nightmare, being in that house. My nan loved the three of them in spite of it but my Grandfather could never get over the fact that the magic in his family had died. He pretended to the outside world as though they didn't exist, buried himself in his work at the Ministry."

"He's a charmer, that Granddaddy of yours. It was worth losing out on that other 500 just to spite the old git."

Celestia gave a defeated shrug. "As soon as they were old enough all three of their kids left the Manor. By the time my Mum was old enough to leave her brothers had already set themselves up decently enough in a Muggle town. Her father told her that if she went to them that she'd never be welcomed back. I think maybe he was frightened to see her go and was trying to scare her off the idea of leaving, but it was the final push. My Grandmother gave her the ring as a goodbye, knowing her husband would cut all contact."

"Must have taken Gramps down a peg or two, having three Squib kids. I'd hate to see what he was like before. I take it that's the first time you've seen hide nor hair of 'im."

Celestia nodded. "As soon as we apparated at the house I knew you'd got it wrong. When you said _estate,_ I'd thought... well, my area is not exactly the best neighbourhood. Like I said, we have nothing. I recognised the Manor from the few pictures Mum has of her growing up. My uncles look just like _him._ I feel like maybe I should have given him the ring. It clearly meant a lot to him."

Scabior sucked air through his teeth dismissively. "No. He's a cold old bastard. Bugger that, and bugger 'im. Your Gran gave it to your Ma, and your Ma gave it to you. It's yours by right."

Celestia rubbed her temples. She wished her mother were here.

"Maybe you're right. I expected... oh, I don't know what, really. Maybe some sort of welcome."

"Certainly not for your own Grandpa to throw you out on your arse with a 'filthy Snatcher'."

"Well, you said it, not me," Celestia shrugged. "Do you think he'll send the Aurors after you because of the money?"

Scabior felt the weight of the bag of galleons in his pocket. "Bugger 'em. I'm the Ministry's best Snatcher, and the only one who can keep Greyback in check. They can't afford to piss me off. I could walk in the Ministry bold as brass and take a piss in Pious Thicknesse's mouth and they'd all be falling over themselves to shake my... well, you get the picture. Besides which, anyone with 500 Galleons just floating about in their desk drawer can afford to spare 'em."

"I suppose so. I feel sorry for Sanchie, stuck in that place."

"Who?"

"The Elf."

"Oh, yeah."

Celestia smirked. "You _were _scared of her."

Scabior gritted his teeth. "What can I say? I've always had a thing about 'em. Freaky little things. It's those weird eyes, glaring up at you like big glass balls. And their wrinkly little 'ands. They give me the shivers."

Celestia laughed, clear as a bell. It was a lovely sound. It made Scabior smile to see her fleetingly happy, when he had only really known her frightened and miserable. He was glad to be the one who had made her laugh. When the smile dampened, her eyes grew sad.

"I wish my Grandma was still alive. I'd have liked to meet her. Maybe she would have understood."

Scabior smiled at her. "I think she would have."

"I think my Mum leaving is what killed her in the end. Mum was out of the door at nineteen. She got a job, met my Dad, and the rest is history."

"And then you came along."

"Yeah. My childhood was completely normal. Mum never said a word about Witches and Wizards, but she always had plenty of stories tell about fantastical creatures and magical heroes. I thought she just had a vivid imagination. I never felt different to any of the other kids in the neighbourhood. It was a shock to all of us when that letter arrived when I was eleven; my Dad, most of all."

"You hadn't shown any signs of magic before?"

Celestia shook her head. "None, but apparently an enchanted pen had written my name down in an enchanted book or some nonsense, so off I went on the train. I had a rough couple of years at Hogwarts. I was good in Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology, but in everything else I was failing miserably; I could barely conjure up a sneeze. It wasn't until third year when I was face-to-face with a Boggart that I managed to cast a spell effectively. Must have scared me out of that slump, because I did alright after that."

"Couldn't have been easy, being in Slytherin and from your background."

"No one knew about my family, apart from a few of the teachers. I never talked about it and no one ever really asked; being in Slytherin, people just assume you're pure or half, no questions asked. Besides, Mum made sure I started using her maiden name so it was clear ours was a Wizarding family. There were a few rumours about what had happened with my grandparents, but nothing ever came of them."

Scabior chewed over his thoughts. "Squib mother, Muggle father. That makes you muggle-born."

Celestia shrugged. "I've got magical blood, it's just skipped a generation. So I wouldn't say so."

"I reckon the Ministry would. _Questionable,_ that's what they think of you. That's why you've been on the run."

Celestia frowned. "So what now? You gonna take me down to the Ministry, get that 20 Galleons?"

"I'm undecided."

"Why do you do it? 20 galleons between a whole group of you is nothing- works out as what, twenty quid each per person you catch? Hardly seems worth it."

Scabior studied her. "Half the time it isn't. But you know what? I 'old my hands up to it; I enjoy it. I'm good at it. Keeps me fit, and yeah, it's a power trip. I like the chase. Besides, you try finding employment after a stint in Azkaban."

Celestia was not surprised to hear it. Most people left Azkaban a little mad, if they ever left at all; she could certainly see its influence in Scabior. The way he talked, the way he moved, as though he were constantly acting for an audience, doing his best for the patrons in the upper circle, every gesture a little hypnotic. It made him both fascinating and unnerving to watch. Celestia turned her head. For the next few minutes she couldn't shake the thought of Azkaban.

"That's where they'll send me, isn't it?"

Now it was Scabior's turn to look away. He didn't like to think of it. Little thing like her wouldn't last a week in that hell hole. Things that place would do to her... still, she wasn't the first fledgling he'd sent into that prison, and the way this war was turning out, she'd hardly be the last.

"You've made a pretty decent profit off this little venture. With 500 galleons you could give up the Snatching game for a while, take a real holiday."

He saw what she was doing. He watched the wheels ticking in her head as she tried her hand at manipulating him.

"There's no rest for the wicked, luvvy."

"500 Galleons, Scabior," she emphasised. It was the first time she had used his name; he was surprised that she'd picked up on it. "And me to thank for it. What's another 20 Galleons on top of that?"

Scabior watched the anxious way her mind was working behind her eyes. She was a Slytherin all right, through and through.

"So what your saying is, I should let you go. Everyone gets a happy ending."

Celestia folded her arms. "For 500 Galleons? I think I've earned my freedom."

Scabior smirked at her. He was growing quite fond of the girl, in his way. Still, he hadn't got where he was by being soft, and he had his reputation to think about, however besmirched. He'd be damned if he was about to let this little nymph play him like a fiddle.

"As much as I'd love to sit here all night with you and drink away our sorrows, we should get back to the cottage; Jinx'll be getting lonely."

He stood from the table. Celestia remained seated, looking up at him defiantly. She hated that he hadn't been swayed by her, that much he could see. Too impatient to try bringing her around, the Snatcher encouraged her firmly out of her seat and lead her back out to the dark street. When he was certain there was no one else around he took hold of her good shoulder, and in a moment they were gone.


	5. Chapter Five: House Rules

**Chapter Five: House Rules**

When they arrived back at the cottage Celestia sank into the velvet chair, feeling drained. Jinx bounded straight over to her and began sniffing at her socks, then bowed his head against her knees. She put her forehead to his for a moment and stroked his ears until Scabior came back into the room, his coat now off, whistling to himself. Celestia saw a pink scarf hanging from the curtain rail which she hadn't noticed before, and reached up to run her fingers over the soft cotton.

"Don't touch that," Scabior snapped, clicking his fingers at her. "That's a lead I'm workin' on. I think it's time we went to bed, don't you?"

"Goodnight," Celestia said, releasing the scarf.

Scabior turned to her. "What, you're not coming up?"

The look she gave him could have soured milk. "I'm not sharing a bed with you."

"You didn't have any complaints last night."

"I was unconscious last night, in case you've forgotten. I didn't exactly have any choice in the matter."

"Who said you've got any choice now?" the Snatcher said, drawing his wand from his pocket and waving it around loosely. He was only teasing, but he saw the way she spiked. "I could just use Imperio on you."

"You could," Celestia said, with wavering confidence in what was coming next, "but you won't."

"You trust me that much?"

"Definitely not."

Scabior chuckled, opening the back door and sending Jinx outside to sleep in his kennel. "Smart girl... you really don't trust me to leave you alone?"

"Oddly enough no, not really, not after all that stuff in the forest. What was it again? _'It's share and share alike here'? 'Does she do any tricks?'"_

"Oh, that was just playing." He punched her lightly in the shoulder to affirm the fact; light or not, it still hurt. "You ever tried to control a bunch of circus animals like my lads? I've gotta put a show on for the lackies, or what sort of leader would I be?"

She could feel a slight tingle left over from the vodka, dancing behind her eyes. Something about his blasé nature set her blood quickly to boiling point. The spikes turned to daggers.

"Yeah, because nothing says_ 'leadership'_ quite like abusing defenceless women."

He sucked his teeth at her bitterly, and moved away. He wasn't in the mood to play anymore.

_"'Abusing'_ you?! Don't be so dramatic. You're too sensitive; comes from having lived your whole life bubble-wrapped from head to toe. Maybe I should send you to Azkaban, so you can get a taste of what the real world is like. Keeping you here for a night's hardly what I'd call-"

"I wasn't talking about me. What about your other_ 'guests?'"_

The Snatcher gave pause. Celestia was acting with anger, but in truth she was scared, and frustrated that her attempts to convince him to release her had fallen on deaf ears. Now that he knew there was no more money to be made out of her family by keeping her unbesmirched, he had no reason not to do as he pleased with her. There was nothing now to stop her from ending up like those other captives, and she'd take a thousand bites and bruises over whatever fate might await her up those stairs.

"You're a bully," Celestia barked. "You take advantage of the power you have over other people, because you're stronger or sharper or because they can't fight back. You're smart, and you use that to hurt others rather than help them. You can't see the world through their eyes so you walk about blind, trampling on whoever's in your path."

Scabior spiked. She had touched a nerve. "Watch yourself, kid. I did you a favour tonight, letting you keep that ring. I've half a mind to march you back there and give it to your old man, take that other 500."

"Of course you have. You're an opportunist. You take what you want from people and then throw them away, trade them in for a quick buck."

She was aware she could further antagonise him here; part of her wanted to, wanted the opportunity to fight back, an excuse to maybe do him some real damage. Men like him had never been told what they were, not by anyone they'd listen to. He appeared to be listening now. She held up the hand with the ring.

"You know why my Mum gave me this stupid thing?! Because she knew it wasn't safe for me anymore, that I'd be hunted. She was the one who told me I had to leave. She knew she might not see me again, just like her own mother did, and now this is all I have of her, of home. She sent me away because of people like_ you."_

Celestia screwed the silver serpent from her finger and threw it at him; it landed at his feet.

"You know what? Take it. You seem pretty dead-set on taking everything else."

The young woman ached with vexation now, overtaking her fear. She was angry at him. She was angry at herself for being caught. She had hardly realised it, but she'd been screaming at him like a hell cat, and there were tears in her eyes. Jinx was barking loudly at the door. His face was stern, his grey-blue eyes simmering. Celestia breathed hard, anticipating the yelling, or the beating, or worse, for him to prove her right.

But there was no retaliation. Instead he turned away and said, with only a flicker of fire,

"You can sleep down 'ere on the sofa. There's no way you're kicking me out of me own bed. See you in the morning."

The Snatcher made his way up the stairs with a stamp in his step, not bothering to look back at the girl. Celestia watched him go without a word, her chest rising and falling heavily. Once her breathing had calmed, she returned to her chair. After some time staring at the ring on the floor, glinting in the firelight, she closed her eyes, and her mind, and tried her hardest to forget. She doubted she'd get much rest tonight.

Celestia sat in the armchair for a long while, lost in frustrated thought. Dangerous ideas began to brew in her mind. She tried to push them away, but a fiendfyre once lit cannot be so easily extinguished, and the addition of alcohol had only worked to encourage the flames; the idea spread throughout her mind until it was all she could think of, and a plan began to form.

Jinx had long since stopped barking, and the house had fallen silent. Resolved to her plan, Celestia forced herself to move. She found Scabior's whiskey in one of the kitchen cabinets, and took a long, slow drink, swishing the burning liquid around in her mouth as she tried to visualise what had formulated in her mind. A couple more mouthfuls of liquid courage were needed before she felt brave enough to ascend the creaky cottage stairs. She let the liquid settle, burning as it went, and forced herself to move.

The Witch moved as quietly as she could on her poorly-mended toe, bracing her arm against the wall to relieve a little of the leftover pain. The door to the Snatcher's bedroom was half-open. As Celestia slid through the gap she caught sight of the man, lay out across the bed, shirtless in the moonlight, wearing one sock and boxer shorts. He was asleep, and snoring, with one hand resting on his chest. His hair tickled the sides of his face as he breathed; in, out, in, out. Even in sleep he wore a knotted expression, somewhere between smug and forlorn.

Celestia scanned the room in the almost-blackness. The trinkets the Snatcher had collected, trophies from his conquests and captures, glittered and gleamed in the faint trace of moonlight from the weighty full moon which peeked through the gaps between the curtains. She stood there for a long while, just breathing, until her eyes adjusted and she caught sight what she had been looking for, the light falling on something- no, two things- long and thin and begging to be taken. Celestia's breath hitched in her throat as she saw her wand resting there beside his own, unprotected on the bedside table.

The girl took a tiny step, testing how creaky the floorboards might be; as if the house was on her side, willing her off the property, they made not a sound. It was a dangerous game, but Celestia had tried begging, she had tried bargaining, and all of it had fallen upon deaf ears. She wouldn't let herself be dragged to Azkaban, not for the sake of this man. She had already decided that, should he wake as she searched for the wand, she would pretend she had come to apologise for the terrible things she had said. That would have been a lie, of course. The things she had said were not terrible, they were true. She reasoned that she could always try to distract him by turning on the charm if needed; he'd already proved that he might be susceptible to it.

The Snatcher didn't stirr as the young Witch drew closer, only a metre from the table now. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of her wand, of the carved laurel handle with the snake winding around it, it's silver-stud eyes calling out to her, willing her to take it. She was inches, nay, centimetres from taking back the power which had been stolen from her. Moving steadily, her fingers closed around the intricate handle, and it felt so right for it to be back in her grip...

But as she lifted the wand, the soft yellow wood turned flame red and grew hot as a fire, causing the girl to gasp in pain; she dropped the wand instinctively, where it clattered against the floorboards, and clasped her still-burning hand over her mouth.

The Snatcher's eyes jumped open. Celestia's heart sank.

_No, no, no-!_

Scabior was disorientated, hardly recognising her for a moment.

"What'chou doing, girl?" He grumbled, already sitting up, bracing himself on one arm. Celestia stared at him in wide-eyed panic for a moment, words struggling to form as she lowered her hand shakily, praying he hadn't registered the sounds which had awoken him. She tried to shake the fear from her face.

"I was just... I'm sorry. I wanted to apologise."

Scabior rubbed his eyes. Celestia took the opportunity to look down at the wand on the floor; it was still glowing coal-red.

"You woke me up just for that?"

Celestia forced her breathing to steady, and in a practised motion, twisted her body onto the bed beside him, making sure his eyes didn't leave her own. She kept them wide, imploring. One hand came to gently to rest upon the Snatcher's bare arm. Through parted lips she breathed,

"...I couldn't sleep. I feel terrible about the things I said. I was being unfair."

He watched her fingers settle against his skin then looked at her as though he were unsure what she was talking about; as their one-sided argument came back to him through the haze of sleep, clarity returned to his face.

"Oh. Yeah. Well no harm done, I've been called a lot worse."

He turned to grab the glass of water; she squeezed a little tighter at his arm, and handed it to him. He thanked her, and as he drank she persisted,

"You were right. You've been so patient with me and I… I've just been awful. Ungrateful. I'm really sorry, Scabior."

Scabior smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He liked to hear her say his name. "Apology accepted; consider it water off a duck's back. Now, my lovely, are you getting in or getting lost, because I for one need my beauty sleep..."

He turned to put the glass back; when Celestia reached for it on instinct, he senses something was up and gave pause. He looked to the bedside table. Celestia's heart shrank as he realised what was missing.

As he did, both of them reached immediately for the remaining wand, but Celestia got there first, taking hold of the jagged black instrument and pointing it at the Snatcher-

_"Petrifi-"_

_WHAM!_ The young Witch bit down on her tongue hard as she was struck by a sudden force, knocking her off balance and throwing her down to the floor, her back up smashing against the radiator beneath the window; she hardly understood what was happening but when she tasted blood, running down from her nose and flowing from her bitten tongue, she realised that the Snatcher had punched her squarely in the face.

Celestia barely twitched, dazed as she was. Her brain was rolling in her skull, the pain around her nose so insurmountable that she was hardly aware of anything else. The Snatcher was on his feet, looming over her, and she eyed her wand rolling about on the floor, still glowing coal-red, but before she could reach for it he'd pulled her up by the collar of her dress and pushed her awkwardly up against the window frame, the wand far out of reach.

"You silly little bitch," the Snatcher spat. He held her tightly in place as she came back to her senses, beginning to thrash in a panic. "What the _fuck_ are you playing at?! _Did you really think-?!"_

Celestia thrust her knee up to his groin as hard as she could manage. Scabior buckled, keeling for a moment, swearing like mad as the girl got down to the floor, reaching for the wand; he grabbed her by the hair and flung her out of the way, onto the bed, kicking the wand beneath it. The Witch was aware of him putting his own wand onto the windowsill as she recovered, drawing her legs back up the bed as to get as far from him as possible. He grabbed her by the foot and dragged her back towards him; Celestia smacked him in the side of the head with her fist, twice before he managed to get a decent grip on her, calling her every derogatory name under the sun as she thrashed against his hold, her eyes alive with panic and white-hot, hysterical rage.

Scabior pushed her back against the bed, hard, expecting her to stay down. Still she reared up at him in frustration, hitting out at him as best she could; in retaliation he backhanded her hard across the face with his closed hand, with such force she saw stars as she caved against the bed.

He was relieved to find that she didn't try to move from where he'd laid her out. Scabior wiped his palm down the length of his face, the muscles in his jaw clenched tightly. When he opened his eyes to look at her again, he saw that there was more fear than fight in her now. He could see his hand print, white against puffy red, embossed upon her face. Celestia let out a sob.

"You stupid, _stupid_ little girl. I've been good to you, 'avent I? Kept you away from those animals, haven't done hardly a thing to you, even lost out on 500 Galleons for your sake. And then you, you what, come up here and try to do me in, in me own house, in me own _bed?!_ How's that for gratitude?! I should snap your wand for that- actually, no, your _neck._ You thankless, selfish little Harpy, I ought to send you to Greyback tied with a bow-"

"I wasn't going to k-kill you," Celestia shuddered, pulling herself upwards. Her head was still spinning. "Not unless you made me. I Just w-want to go."

The agony in the pit of his stomach coupled with her betrayal had awakened an anger in Scabior which he hadn't felt towards the girl since she'd bitten him in the forest. His fingers were twitching, still clenched into fists. He wanted to hurt her.

"Yeah? Well after that stunt you ain't going nowhere. C'mere."

Celestia scrambled back until she was almost off the bed, but he climbed after her and pulled her back, which only resulted in the two of them wrestling among the fur covers as she tried to fight him off, screaming now, her panic increased tenfold by having him on top of her. He managed to marry her to the bed by her hips, baring over her with a hand depressing each of her wrists into the bed covers, pinned either side of her. Hardly able to move, after a minute or two of useless floundering Celestia saw no option other than to relent her fight a little. She breathed hard, lying almost still, allowing herself to be subdued, then turned to a different tactic.

"I'm sorry," she said; the tears were real, and had already fallen, laying like pale crystals against her cheeks, running through her temples and into her silvery hair. "I won't fight any more. I'll be good."

His eyes changed as she tempered out the last remnants of her struggle, laying completely still beneath him as though to prove her words had merit. The Snatcher was glistening with sweat, breathing hard, one knee pushed between her thighs. Her submission was hard-earned, but welcome. He felt the flex of the tendons in her wrists against his palms, the depression of her rib cage as he lowered his stomach to hers, the way her body made room for his. Without realising it he closed the gap, his chest was just touching hers. Her chest rose and fell irregularly against his, each breath accompanied by an involuntary, carnal rasp. He could smell the stolen Firewhiskey on her breath, almost taste it in the air. He imagined the taste of it on his lips.

He wanted her. He'd wanted her the moment he'd first seen her, flat on her back and breathless in the forest, much as she was now. There was that same flushed tone to her cheeks, red as her lips, and the halo of her hair lit her face with a silvery light. It would be so easy; always had been with the others. And what could she do, but cry and scream and beg?

Mostly it wasn't like that, though. Mostly they stayed quiet once they realised there was no fighting their way out, frozen, as though they were not really there at all; by the time the crying started he would already be halfway asleep. He drank her in again, those lean white arms, the contours of her thighs pressed against his legs, the desperate rhythm of her chest; the pleading cerulean eyes, the trembling mouth._ It would be so easy._

Even so, after a minute in which the two rivals seemed frozen, the dominant party eased his grip. Scabior found that there was a disconnection between body and mind; here she was, pinned beneath him in his bed, and yet the thoughts which pushed themselves to the surface of the waters of his mind gave him pause. Her words from earlier were still in his head, flickering through his brain, reminding him of what he was, like a record which refused to stop sticking. _You take advantage... hurt others... because they can't fight back._ They were things he didn't want to be believe about himself, but the longer he looked at this girl, the more he knew them to be true. There was no ignoring the blood on her face.

He allowed himself one moment more to drink her in then pulled himself away from her and stood at the end of the bed. She lay still, like a broken doll.

"Get up."

It took Celestia a moment to move, so petrified had she been. Once she was up on her feet again he pulled her towards the door and across the landing, his wand back in his hand, unlocking the second bedroom's door with a brisk_ 'Alohamora'_ and shoving her inside.

He braced his hands either side of the door frame; she did not try to push past him, didn't try anything. Scabior sighed, wishing he had stayed asleep.

"Now you stop all that crying, get some bloody sleep. Maybe you'll wake up smarter."

He slammed the door and she heard him use _'Colloportus'_ to lock it once more, and that was the end of the commotion. Scabior was gone.

Though her escape had failed, Celestia was glad to have survived the encounter unscathed, and to be locked away from the Snatcher; the lock made her feel safer, though she knew he could release it at a moment's notice. She looked around the bedroom, her breathing ragged. The room was small and had not been cleaned in a long while. There were two small single beds in the room, both with dusty fur covers, one brown and one grey. Above the grey coverlet, carved awkwardly into the pine headboard, was the name _'Xavier.' _She traced her fingers across the unfamiliar name, the letters smooth and worn.

Celestia saw that the bed beside it bore Scabior's name, carved just as sloppily; by a child, she could only assume. There was writing on the wall in blue biro pen, and jagged drawings too, of wolves and woodlands and some grizzly scene Celestia couldn't quite make out in the darkness. Most of the words were illegible in their inexperienced handwriting, though Celestia could make out a few of the scrawlings-_ 'blood brothers', 'part of the pack.' _Across the back wall at the highest point a child might reach while standing on the beds, in a clumsy attempt at calligraphy, a line had been scrawled in huge words;

_'Who remembers the lone wolf?'_

Celestia pulled back the covers of the grey bed and climbed inside, coughing at the dust that rose from the coverlet but welcoming the comforting weight of it. She sat up in the bed, unable to lie down should she choke on the clots of blood that were still coming, red and hot and metallic in her throat. She had never been punched before, certainly not by a fully grwn man, and it had felt a lot worse than she had expected. Her face was sore and swollen, her throat tight from crying, and her breathing has still not settled. It had been a brave attempt, but bravery was often coupled with stupidity, and Celestia felt her efforts fell more into the latter. She could have been killed for her treachery, or worse. She worried over what it was that had stopped the Snatcher from hurting her as he'd promised he would when he'd set out his 'house rules'. She had made a lucky escape, and now took seriously what the ragged man had said to her earlier; _you could have it a lot worse._

Celestia sank into the pillow and closed her eyes, feeling deflated and heavy from the whiskey. It's slow, drowsy pull was the only thing which allowed her to finally drift into sleep.

The serpent ring which Celestia had thrown at her captor was waiting for her on the pillow beside her head when she awoke the next morning. She studied it for a long while before putting it back on her finger. It felt like a peace offering. She hoped that it was. Celestia's mouth tasted terrible, an aftershock of the alcohol. She felt a desperate urge to brush her teeth.

The door had been left open. When the young Witch made her way downstairs she saw that the Snatcher was already up and about. He was humming along to some whimsical Muggle music coming from the record player, and had his bare back to her as he stood at the breakfast counter, scooping up mouthfuls of cereal. He was still bare from the waist up, but now wore trousers and a second sock, his hair gathered and tied scruffily to the side of his head. Hearing Celestia move about, he stopped humming, but didn't turn to her. Celestia's breath came to a halt.

"Morning, madam."

"...Morning."

Another moment of silence. Celestia prayed it wasn't an ill omen.

"You feeling better after your little moment of hysteria?"

The girl was too afraid to say anything which might upset him, so stayed quiet. She had seen her swollen face in the bathroom mirror, and didn't want to see it get any worse.

"It's alright," Scabior said, sensing her unease. "I un'erstand. Emotions run high with these sort of things."

Celestia frowned at him, trying to unwrap her own feelings. He was charming, hypnotic, in his way. There were moments where he'd made her laugh; she saw embers of kindness from him which made her wonder what had caused him to become the man he was. Still, those flickering flames were extinguished by the more prominent feelings she felt towards him; fear at what he was and a burning red sense of revulsion at what he had done to others, and what he might yet do to her. His violence, his unpredictability, washed away the good she saw glimmering beneath his caddish nature. He was oblivious to her thoughts, scooping up another portion of cereal from his bowl, crunching as he spoke. A light frown touched his face.

"You know, it's usually the woman in the relationship who spends all her time asking her bloke what he's thinking about, not the other way around."

The young Witch narrowed her eyes. "This isn't a relationship."

Scabior rolled his. "I'm not daft, I know that we're never going to be friends, given the circumstances... but I thought at we were at least decided upon not being enemies. Even so, I thought we had a good thing going 'ere- I was starting to get fond of you."

"You're the one who decided we're enemies. You could have let me go. I wouldn't have had to fight you if you'd just let me go."

He turned to her, the bowl in his hands, and leaned back upon the counter. He tried to hide the surprise at the sight of her swollen face, but failed. He felt a stab of guilt.

"If only things were that easy, sweetheart. A man's got to make a living-"

"You've got _500 Galleons_ out of me already-"

"Yeah, and still a good 20 or so to make."

She couldn't hide her disgust with him. Empathy was a quality Celestia valued over most others, and this man seemed nearly incapable of it. It made his moments of warmth towards her almost infuriating; if he was able to show kindness in some things, then why not when it really mattered?

"20 Galleons is nothing. Is that all you think I'm worth?"

"The girls come cheaper than that on Nocturne Alley," Scabior quipped, another joke which was ill-received. "There's a not-so-reputable little establishment called _The Wicked Witch_ on Nocturn who'd give me sixty for you, if you'd prefer that. It's all very hush-hush, these things 'ave to be, but you'd make a nice jewel in their collection; a Highborn mudblood, that's a pretty rare occurrence, I imagine. There's bound to be a few perverts out there who'd jump at a chance to sample that particular dish. You're pretty enough, though I doubt you'd stay pretty for long in a place like that. Yep, they'd take you off my hands no problem. Want me to give 'em a buzz?"

Celestia scowled. She could tell it was an empty threat, but it was a threat all the same. Scabior looked suddenly very tired.

"I've told you already, kid, it's nothing personal. If I let you go, it'll only be for some other lowlife to snatch you up. You've ran afoul of Snatchers twice in how many weeks? The streets are crawling with us now, and with your track record of shouting you-know-who's name at any opportunity you'd be snapped up again by the end of the week, and not by someone as forgiving as me. Anyone else in the guild who'd have cut you in two for playing up like you did last night, you're lucky you didn't have it-"

"-A lot worse," Celestia finished for him, folding her arms across her chest. "I know."

For a long while he stared at her; she looked both defiant and defeated. His eyes again settled on the mark he'd left across her face, the threat of a bruise imprinted below her eye.

"Let's just forget it ever happened," Scabior said, raising his spoon momentarily in a make-do gesture of peace. "Just don't make me shout at you again, I don't like doing it."

"Could have fooled me."

"Alright, alright, no need to twist the knife once it's in. I'm sorry about the slap, too."

_"Slap?!"_ Celestia challenged, feeling brave in her outrage.

He couldn't meet her eye. "I'd never normally hit a lady, but I had to get that wand off ya, and quickly. I didn't mean to 'urt you."

"No one's ever hit me before in my life."

"With a mouth like that, you should count yourself lucky you've gone this long without."

When Scabior brushed stray hair back from his face, she saw that she'd given almost as good as she'd got. The Snatcher's temple was bruised a brambly purple, traces of a yellowish stream trickling up beneath his eye; she felt an odd sense of pride at seeing some evidence of her fight, some proof that she had not allowed herself to be mistreated without some sort of resistance. Still, looking into those steely eyes took her straight back to that room; she could feel the weight of him pressed down upon her again, the warmth of his breath against her skin. Her veins held traces of the adrenaline which had coursed through her as she'd fought to free herself, and the shameful sting of cowardice as she'd relented, stopped fighting him, and had lain there like a puppet waiting for him to decide her fate.

She fretted over how things would have turned out had she not accepted defeat and had continued to fight that losing battle; she imagined she wouldn't have gotten away as easily as she did. Celestia contemplated asking him why he hadn't punished her further as he'd promised to, but thought better of it; she worried it might sound as though she were asking for a rematch.

Scabior went to the door to call in Jinx, who returned with muddy paws; it must have rained at some point during the night. Celestia watched the man chase the dog about the house with a tea towel, calling him every name under the sun as he tried to dry his paws. She might have laughed were she not still so weary after last night's events. When the hound finally settled before the fireplace, Celestia sat down with him and ruffled his fur.

"I'm going to iron me shirt," Scabior interrupted in an attempt to raise the energy, not allowing her a chance to upset herself. He said it as though this were a rare occasion, and worth celebrating. "A little birdy tells me that the Ministry's opening up this afternoon. Gotta look the part. Fancy a bit of breakfast before I go?"

The thought of the Ministry opening its doors again was like a hammer to Celestia's chest. She wanted out of this place, no doubt, but the idea of being thrown into Azkaban was beyond nerve wracking. She stayed seated for a while in quiet contemplation, clinging to Jinx's body.

Scabior bunged two slices of bread into the toaster. When it popped and he still hadn't heard a peep out of the girl, he turned to her with a frown.

"Still moping? What's up, buttercup?"

Celestia looked at him as though she'd forgotten he was there.

"This is it, then. You're going to hand me over."

He let out a breathy sound, something like a laugh. "After last night I'm pretty dead set upon rolling up the welcome mat, I'll be honest. My 'ospitality don't last long for guests who accuse me of being everything under the sun and try to kill me in me own bed."

"I wasn't trying to _kill _you-"

"The Ministry ain't so bad. It's clean and by-the-book. No one will hit you or try to eat you, which is more than can be said for the company I've forced you to keep the past couple of days."

"Lucky me," Celestia groaned. She wanted to remind him that it wasn't the Ministry she was frightened of, but what came after, but kept her mouth shut. Scabior frowned at her, buttering her toast. She watched the knife move back and forth, a little too sharply, the scraping of the metal against the bread somehow unsettling.

"Don't get arsey with me, Veela, it sets me on edge. You've been on thin ice since you got here, and it's cracking."

Celestia took the plate from him in silence. The knife was still in his other hand. He dunked it in the sink and pulled out the iron, laying a black shirt out on the counter top. Celestia took a bite of the toast. It was not at all how she liked it.

"How many people do you think he's killed? The Werewolf, I mean."

"What, Greyback?" Scabior frowned from the other side of the counter, running the iron over a shirt sleeve. "He was turned when he was young, as I understand it, so it's got to be at least a couple hundred from the full moons, not that he lets any other sort of moon stop him. If I had to put a number on it, I'd say what, three hundred? Maybe four?"

Celestia swallowed back her toast. "Jesus Christ."

"He ain't helped none of 'em so far."

"He frightens me," Celestia whispered, without really meaning to say it. Scabior gave a small chuckle.

"He frightens me, too."

His eyes moved quickly away from the girl; he ironed in silence for a few moments, then said, quietly,

"My Mum was like it, you know."

Celestia took notice at that. She said up a little straighter, ready to listen. Jinx harrumphed in protest.

"Not a savage like Greyback, you understand. She was a proper lady, but she was a Wolf alright, through and through. Worked hard to control it, only killed a handful of people in her time, and most of them deserved it. She'd pissed off an old boyfriend so much that when they left Hogwarts he placed the Lycanthropy curse on her, the little shit-bag. She ate him first, so the world has a way of righting itself."

Celestia wasn't sure what to say to that. Her face showed her surprise. Scabior continued.

"Luckily I didn't inherit it, though I've my mother to thank for my good sense of smell and keen eyes. I've never fancied taking a bite out of anyone yet, though. Reckon that's why I'm so good at tracking, some left over hunter's instinct, maybe… nothing scientific, but it makes sense, don't you think? S'probably why I enjoy the job. I have been noted to get a little more testy when the full moon's in the sky, so you're lucky things didn't go any further last night. I'll probably be worse when the moon peaks tonight, so watch what you say to me. At least _try_ to not piss me off."

"I thought I'd be gone by tonight."

Scabior scowled at her for thinking she'd caught him out. "Only if the Ministry really is back in business. I'm trying to tell you my life story 'ere, you wanna hear it or not?"

Celestia nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. Scabior continued.

"My brother didn't get off as easily as I did. Genetics can be a cruel lot'ery. He don't share dear old Mum's perspective on taming the beast, neither. If Xavier saw you, he'd snap you right up. He reckons women taste better."

Celestia remembered the name carved into the headboard; the knowledge that she'd slept in a Werewolf's bed made her a little uneasy.

"That little hex with the doors and windows, that was one of Mum's. She used it to keep herself and my brother upstairs in the bedrooms on a full moon. I used to sit down here, turn that record player up, and pretend not to hear 'em growlin' and howlin'. That's how I ended up with Fenrir Greyback in my crew, 'cause I'm the only one with experience enough to control 'im, having been, if you'll forgive the expression, quite literally raised by wolves."

Celestia's face was saddened for him. It was hard to imagine him ever being a child, but she saw him now, a scrawny sort of boy with poorly cut hair, cross-legged in front of the fireplace and trying to block out the world.

"Sounds pretty lonely."

Scabior gave a small smile. "You're quite the bleedin' heart, I see; sympathetic to all God's creatures, champion of the waifs and strays. The way you balled over that lad in the forest when they took 'im to the cleaners, my my... could have brought a tear to a glass eye."

"Shut up," Celestia said gently. He smiled back.

"And humble to boot. I'm starting to think you maybe shouldn't have been in Slytherin."

Celestia had often thought the same thing herself. She took pride in her house, and wouldn't want to be in any other, but she had always felt somewhat of an outsider. Perhaps the sorting hat still retained some pride in the old Monanchor name, and had seen fit to place her there because of it.

Celestia feared she knew the real reason; _Cunning,_ the sorting hat would have called it. Selfishness, that was the real name for it. When Aloxus had fallen on that fateful night, she had kept running. When the safe house had been attacked all those weeks ago, she had grabbed Al and disapperated without a second thought for the dozen or so refugees hiding under his roof. Her self-interest had saved her more than once, but it was the cause of many a sleepless night.

Scabior finished ironing his shirt, holding up his handiwork so they could both admire it. There was a boyish glint in his smile.

"Look at that! Perfect, that is. So you see now lovely, you're not the only one to know what it feels like to have a family full of black sheep... or wolves in sheep's clothing, in my case. Every family has its secrets."

Scabior pulled the newly pressed shirt over his shoulders and began to button it; Celestia caught herself looking and quickly looked away. Her eyes returned, this time to the large bruise across his temple.

"I'm sorry about your face," Celestia said quietly. A very small part of her meant it.

"Like I said, don't worry about it." He seemed to want to forget the whole affair even more than she did. Celestia noticed that he was having difficulty meeting her eye; was that glimmer there something like guilt?

Scabior untied his hair, before running his fingers through the bedraggled ends and tying it back just as messily as before. He tucked a loose red strand behind his ear and said,

"Right, dolly, I'm off out to find out how quickly I can get shot of you. Hex is still in place so don't get any ideas, and I've got both out wands in me sky rocket so there's no need to turn the house upside down or go all _'day release'_ on me again. You just stay here and behave yourself and we'll 'ave no more problems."

"Whatever," Celestia said. He gave her a look which let her know that he didn't appreciate her attitude, pulled on his coat, and opened up a little pot on the fireplace, standing very close to her, the leather of his coat brushing her bare shoulder. The Witch looked up his plaid trousers at him, her hands still deep in the coat of the happy bloodhound. Scabior took out a handful of glittering green powder from the ornate pot and cast it into the fire, which quickly turned emerald. Jinx's ears perked up and he watched the flames curiously.

_"Nocturn Alley,"_ Scabior said clearly, stepping into the flames, and with a flare of soot he was gone.


	6. Chapter Six: Blood Brothers

**Chapter Six: Blood Brothers**

Naturally, Celestia tried to access the Floo network in the same way once the Snatcher had left, but the hex covered that, too, and despite using half the powder in the pot she couldn't even get her foot into the flames. Instead she spent most of the day in boredom, resigned to the fact that there was nothing much she could do until Scabior made an appearance and told her of her fate. She was surprised at how long he was gone, and glad to have Jinx's company. She exhausted the Snatcher's record collection and, after testing out one or two failed theories of escape she'd crafted, sank into the velvet armchair with a book she'd found abandoned on the kitchen counter, _'A Guide to Wands and the Wizards who Wield Them'_ by Garrick Ollivander.

The name of the wand-maker from whom she and so many others had purchased their wands sparked her interest. The magical properties of wand woods and cores were all explained in detail, and read almost like the Muggle horoscopes her Mother had grown so fond of. Naturally, Celestia went first to her own wand, and learned how wands of a Zouwu feather core, much like the fantastical beasts from which they came, were prone to fits of mischief and worked best when applied to magic of an explosive nature. Celestia kept this in mind and swore that she would summon the bravery to muster up a _Confringo_ if she and her wand were ever reunited again.

Celestia then fingered through the pages, and found, after _Larch,_ her own wand wood. The entry read:

_It is said that a laurel wand cannot perform a dishonourable act, although in the quest for glory (a not uncommon goal for those best suited to these wands), I have known laurel wands perform powerful and sometimes lethal magic. Laurel wands are sometimes called fickle, but this is unfair. The laurel wand seems unable to tolerate laziness in a possessor, and it is in such conditions that it is most easily and willingly won away. Otherwise, it will cleave happily to its first match forever, and indeed has the unusual and engaging attribute of issuing a spontaneous lightning strike if another witch or wizard attempts to steal it._

She thought Ollivander's summary of her as a Wizard quite intolerable, and began to believe his writings were rather like Muggle horoscopes after all; she did not want glory. She wanted only to be left alone, for herself and those she cared about to stay alive, and to live in less exciting times. Laziness, the wand complained of; perhaps that's why she'd found her magic much more malleable since going on the run, her wand being glad of a reason to show off its talents. She felt quite put out that it had not yet lived up to its promise of striking down Scabior for stealing it, though. Perhaps the wand really was fickle.

Celestia began to read the entries for the wands of her closest friends; Lamia's Willow wood estimations were quite inaccurate, but she found the description of the ideal Applewood wielder fit Aloxus to a T; loyal, well-loved, dependable. She missed him terribly.

Celestia couldn't help but wonder what the Snatcher's wand might say about him. The wood was as black as coal and could only be Ebony. She flicked through the pages for the entry, which read:

_This jet-black wand wood is highly suited to all manner of combative magic. Ebony is happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of outsider. In my experience the ebony wand's perfect match is one who will hold fast to his or her beliefs, no matter what the external pressure, and will not be swayed lightly from their purpose._

The young Witch frowned over the words. A fringe outsider, yes, and thriving as such, but Scabior did not seem the type to really hold any firm beliefs; he seemed to sway as lightly as a willow reed to whichever side was offered the best deal at any given moment. His moral compass was constantly spinning, unable to settle on North. She did not believe that he felt any stake in the Death Eaters' mission, but neither did he care enough about their injustices to act in any way against it. He was a mercenary through and through.

Everything remained quiet until, at five o'clock, Jinx started barking. Soon after there was a knock at the front door. Celestia closed the book into her lap and slowly moved into the hallway.

It could be the Snatcher, but then why would he be knocking? Why wouldn't he have apparated, or returned via the fireplace? Through the frosted glass window pane she could see the outline of the visitor; he was too tall to be Scabior, and built a little differently. Unaware that she was stood there the man knocked again, more insistently this time.

"Scabs! Move that damned mangy dog of yours and open up, it's me!"

Celestia's heart leapt into her throat. She backed up to the stairwell, hoping whoever it was would give up and go away. Luck, the past two days had proven, was not on Celestia's side, and she stood horror-stricken as she heard a key turn in the lock. Jinx began barking even more vigorously as the man stepped through the door, but it wasn't the friendly bark he'd greeted Scabior with. Celestia swore she heard the man growl back, and Jinx backed up into the living room. Celestia sprinted up the staircase, but not quickly enough for the intruder not to hear her footsteps.

"Scabs! So you are 'ere, me old mucker. I wish you'd get rid of this mutt. Didn't you hear me banging? It's a good job I still keep a key to this place. They've suspended my Apparation license, you know, and do you think those bastards at Floo-Pow will send me any more powder after the incident with the Ashwinder in the fireplace last year? Like hell they will!"

Celestia watched as the man crossed the corridor and stepped through into the living room, pulling Jinx along with him by the collar, the hound barking like mad all the way. He opened the back door and cast the canine out into the cold. He quickly snapped the door shut after him, muttering under his breath, and made his way to the fireplace; he blew a kiss to the woman in the portrait before opening up the little pot full of floo powder and pocketing a glittering handful of it, looking around to ensure he hadn't been spotted, and found Celestia looking back at him from the top of the staircase.

The girl stood very still, almost frozen. It would have been ridiculous of her to hide, she told herself, only for Scabior to return and reveal that she'd been hiding in the locked bathroom or something similar. In reality the thought simply hadn't come to mind quick enough. They stared at one another in silence for a long moment before the man said, with a half-smile,

"You're a welcome addition to the furniture. Don't worry, I'm not a burglar. Is Scabs around?"

Celestia sussed out immediatley who the man was. He was younger than Scabior, and a good head taller, but there was no mistaking that the two were brothers. They had elements of the same rugged face, shared the narrow nose and square jawline. They wore the same dark hair though Xavier's- that was his name, Celestia remembered- was a lot shorter, but still looked untameable, sticking out at odd angles from his head. There was a wildness in his eyes, and his teeth were uncomfortably white. Despite his apparent youth, streaks of grey swept either side of his temples, as though the hair had had all the colour brushed out of it.

"He's gone out," Celestia managed, forcing a quick smile. "He should be back soon."

"Ah, brilliant. I, uh, suppose I'll just wait for him 'ere, then."

Celestia's smile turned to a grimace. He was very like his brother. It seemed unfair that she should have to contend with two of them.

Xavier sank quickly into the blue velvet chair and put his feet up on the coffee table, his hands folded behind his head. One foot tapped rapidly against the table top.

As the girl cautiously descended the stairs he held out a hand for her to shake; trying to be cordial as not to aggravate the situation, Celestia offered her own, and a more genuine smile.

"I'm his brother," the man explained, grinning. His nails were long and yellow, his thumb digging into her palm. He had the same unnerving charm that his sibling often performed. "Name's Xavier."

"I know," she said with energy, "I've heard about you."

"Well, whatever he's told you, good luck proving it," the man answered, laughing at his own wittiness. He took a deep breath as she bowed her head a little, her hair falling away from her neck.

"Have we met before?"

Celestia shook her head. "I think I'd remember you."

"I suppose I'd remember you, too. But there's something familiar... sorry, didn't catch your name...?"

"Celestia."

The grin remained in place, frozen on his sallow cheeks. "It's a pleasure, Celestia."

He took another sharp inhale. He seemed very on edge. It was the night of the full moon, after all.

Outside she smiled. Inside Celestia was alight with panic. Being British, there was only one thing to do. Her strained grin widened.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

"I'd kill for one," he beamed back, and she felt his eyes boring into her back as she escaped into the kitchen. Celestia had to wrap the handle of the kettle with a tea towel to prevent it from burning her as she made drinks for the two of them. It had seemed to take an age for the kettle to boil, the pair of them waiting there in silence. The girl remained constantly aware of the Werewolf tapping his foot rhythmically against the tabletop, and of Jinx scratching at the back door, growling low.

The man was full of thanks as she brought him his tea, smacking his lips appreciatively at the first scalding hot sip. Celestia began to clean the dishes in the sink as an excuse to keep her distance as the Werewolf sat quite contentedly by the fireplace, rasping his yellow nails against the ceramic, _one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four._ The sound ran straight up Celestia's spine and set her on edge. She watched him closely, unsure of what he would do.

He wore all black with a long grey leather coat which made him appear even taller than he already was. Affable as he so far seemed, she felt that if she took her eyes off him for a moment he would pounce. He gave off an odd sort of effervescence, a boundless energy which might have been appealing had Celestia not known what he was, of the beast that lay behind that too-white smile. She could feel his agitation sparking like a firework, and only hoped that his friendly nature would last until his brother returned. She could hardly believe that she'd been given cause to want the Snatcher near her.

"It's been quite some time since we checked in on each other, Scabs and I, but with the Snatcher's guild being out of action I thought I'd find him here. Is he still wearing those ridiculous trousers?"

Celestia nodded, her smile a little too wide, desperate not to show how anxious she was.

Xavier chuckled to himself. "Some things never change. 'Is hair still needs cutting too, I'll bet. This place is looking tidier, though." He scratched his stubbled chin with yellow nails. The two brothers shared the same thick accent, cockney as they come, though Xavier's tone was a little more feverish. "It's been a while since I've been back 'ere. Amazing what a woman's touch can do. So who are you, then? Girlfriend?" Celestia shook her head. "Thought not. You're far too lovely to be anywhere near my brother... not by choice, anyway. Is he paying you?"

Celestia said nothing to that. The Wolf read from it what he needed to. He sucked his teeth.

"Ouch. That's unfortunate. I'm sorry to hear it. Nasty old bastard, my brother can be. Where'd he pick you up?"

"On a job," she answered, as vaguely as possible. Xavier nodded.

"You got a family?"

Celestia nodded.

"I bet they're missing you."

Something caught in Celestia's throat. She rinsed off the plates, placing them carefully on the rack. She was tempted to ask him to get her out of there. If she could only find the words…

"I must say, you're very hospitable. He's got you trained well… he didn't do that to you, did he?"

Celestia felt his eyes on her bandaged arm.

"No. That was... someone else."

"And what about your face?"

Celestia gave a timid sort of nod. Cautiously, her heart in her windpipe, she asked,

"Could you… maybe… could you get me out of here?"

The man looked at her as though she has asked him to take her to the moon. After a moment longer, he let out a sigh.

"Sorry, love. No-can-do. What Scabs says goes, I'm afraid. Sounds like you've been through the wars, though. Looks like it could be pretty painful. Want me to take a look at it? I'm famously good with my 'ands."

Celestia felt then that he was looking for an opportunity. She was determined to give him no invitation to come any closer. "No, thanks. It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Can't say I believe that, but alright. What time did you say Scabs'll be getting back?"

"About half an hour," Celestia lied; she hoped it would be sooner.

He arched his back a moment, then suddenly sat up straighter. He raised a wrist, checking the time on the large silver watch which rested there. There was a flicker of something in his eye as he looked back to her; outside, the sky was growing darker.

"Hmm. A lot can happen in half an hour."

And that was it. What had previously been suspicion had turned to certainty. Celestia eyeballed the man, waiting for him to make his move.

"You got anything good to eat?" he asked, too slowly. "I'm nearly ravenous."

Celestia opened the biscuit tin, her eyes on the wolf the whole time. She placed a handful of stale digestives onto a plate and brought it over to him, standing far enough out of his reach that he'd have a difficult time grabbing her if he tried.

"Thank you kindly," he said, taking one biscuit and dipping it in his tea. Celestia left the plate on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen, flicking on the record player as she went; she could no longer stand the silence. She took a sip from her own cup to steady herself, then began to slowly dry the cutlery on the rack.

It wasn't long before the intruder was back up on his feet. Celestia heard him coming, humming along to the music as he went, felt the surface of her skin buzz electric, every hair standing on end. When he reached the opposite side of the counter they locked eyes. His were steely-blue, unfairly beautiful, just like Scabior's. The tension in the air was tangible.

"You couldn't put another sugar in this for me, could you?" Xavier asked, holding out his cup, a wry smile on his face. "Seems I'm not quite sweet enough."

He was too close now. The smell of his breath hit Celestia in a wave. Though he might have looked at least half presentable compared to Greyback, that smell was the same, metallic and rotten, like a thousand dead things all crying out from the pit of his stomach, clawing their way up his throat. She felt Greyback's claws scrape her arm again, felt her knees graze he'd thrown her down in the mud, the weight of him unbareable, pressing down upon her...

"Did you 'ere me, love? ...Sugar, if you please."

Celestia came back to reality and almost wished she hadn't. The sugar caddy was on the counter behind her, and she was loathe to turn her back to him, but nodded all the same, taking the cup. She immediately felt from the weight of it alone that it was empty. When she looked up at him from the empty ceramic, the expression on his face told her all she needed to know. The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile.

Quicker than Celestia would have thought possible, the wolf had lunged over the counter-top at her; in the seconds she had, Celestia grabbed hold of her own mug of tea and flung the burning contents in his face. He yelped and brought his hands up to shield himself and the girl grabbed the handle of the kettle which quickly flared red, giving her a new series of blisters, and smashed the Wolf in the back of the head with the hefty metal appliance. As he went down with a groan she grabbed the tea towel she had been using to dry the dishes and wrapped it around the handle of the longest knife, wrenching it from the rack. Her instinct was to run, not to fight, and she sprinted upstairs as quickly as she could with her weapon. She could hear the Wolf swearing behind her now, just getting to his feet from the blow; outside Jinx was going wild, the sound of his barking deafening, his claws raking at the door. The song on the record player continued to hum.

_"Your eyes held a message tender… saying 'I surrender'..."_

There was no way out of the house, not while the hex which prevented her from leaving was still on the place. Instead Celestia locked herself in the bathroom, knowing it was her only chance of keeping out of the Werewolf's grasp. She clung to the knife, the towel around it's handle protecting her from the burning Hex, knowing the narrow strip of steel might be the only thing between her life and death. If things went that far she feared the Snatcher might kill her if he returned to find she had killed his brother; still, it was better to be dead later than to be dead now, and she reasoned that whatever Scabior might do to her could hardly be worse than what his feral brother was planning. Chances were she'd be on the losing side of that battle anyway; a kitchen knife verses a famished Werewolf nearing his transformation were not exactly odds worth betting on.

Celestia wished she had lied about being more than just Scabior's prisoner. Xavier might have been a little more hesitant about eating his brother's jail-bait girlfriend rather than some hussy he'd found on the street who could be easily replaced. With the door locked, she moved quickly to the bathroom window; the daylight was almost completely gone. She had half an hour at best before the full moon was glowing in the sky. Once it arrived, he could just tear the door down.

"No need to panic," Xavier called whimsically from outside the door; she could here him slowly crossing the landing, his nails trailing against the wallpaper. "If you don't kick up too much of a fuss you'll hardly feel a thing. I'm more of a savager than a ravager. Has he told you I'm a Werewolf?"

"He might have mentioned it," Celestia called, focused on prising the radiator cabinet from the wall with the knife so that she might have something to brace the door with.

"It'll be quick, I promise; I always go straight for the neck. You seem like a nice girl, and normally I'm sure we'd get on like a house on fire, but you're in a very bad place at a very bad time. I wouldn't usually go for a bite on the cusp of the transformation, but I'm always extra peckish at a Harvest Moon. Think of this as your way out!"

He'd stopped outside the door. Celestia pushed the dismounted cabinet up against it. The music from the record player had followed them upstairs, and was still merrily dancing on the air. Something clicked then; Celestia realised the thing she had forgotten.

It wasn't just a Werewolf out there. He was a Wizard.

_...Oh, Shit._

_"Alohomora!"_

The door swung open. The Werewolf grinned.

"Fancy seeing you here."

Celestia didn't have time to react before the wolf had pushed past the radiator cabinet and lunged at her; She raised the knife high and aimed it at his throat, but his canine instincts were impeccable and he very nearly snapped her wrist in the effort to wrestle her free of the gleaming weapon. He wrenched the knife from her loosened grip and grabbed her by the throat, his claws digging into her neck. With his superior strength he slammed her roughly up against the bathroom mirror, so hard the glass almost shattered; with a second thrust to stop her struggling, it did. The force of the blow turned Celestia into a ragdoll, knocking her near senseless, and she dropped in amongst the glass to the bathroom floor in a heap, her vision doubled by the head trauma, the fragments of glass making the whole world sparkle.

For what could have been a solid minute, the pain was blinding, unbearable. When reality returned to her, Celestia saw that her attacker had dropped the knife into the bathroom sink. She could see the hilt of it peering over the edge, glittering teasingly. His wand was somewhere in the room, too, but her eyes wouldn't focus well enough for her to find it. _If she could only get to one of them..._

The wolf, Celestia realised, had been talking, though it was only now that she registered the noise as words.

"...and if you look at it that way, I'm doing you a favour really," he was saying, his boots crunching on glass as he bent down to Celestia's level and touched her hair. Celestia saw the crimson there and reasoned that she must be bleeding badly from her head. The wolf brought the red strands close to his face and breathed her in. His blue eyes danced across hers. Yet again, he reminded her terribly of his brother.

"Now, sweetheart, I'll give you some friendly advice; it hurts less if you don't fight…" His face spread into a hungry grin. "But it's a lot more fun if you do."

So disoriented from the blow was Celestia that she hardly understood what was happening as he dragged her down, pinning her flat out on the cold flooring, shards of glass slipping their way under her skin.

"Good idea, coming up here," Xavier said, something yellow flashing in his eyes. There was a gruffness to his voice which hadn't been there before, and he was sitting on her hips, weighing her down. "Scabs has always been worse than a bloody woman when it comes to being house proud. We'll make a lot less mess up here on the linoleum than we would have downstairs. It's a nightmare getting blood out of carpet."

But Celestia wasn't hearing him now. She was hearing the rasp of Greyback's breathing, remembering the insatiability of his eyes, the sharpness of his claws against her skin as she choked in the mud, and now Scabior, too, the way he had fought with her last night, the ravenous look that had glazed his eyes as he'd held her down against his bed, what she'd been sure he would do to her, and how it had frightened her just as much as the prospect of being torn to shreds. The fright of all three of them was upon her now, the two Werewolves and the Snatcher, pressed her down against the tiled floor.

Xavier, unaware of the crisis he had caused, pulled off his leather overcoat and cast it into the bathtub, muttering something about keeping that clean of blood, too.

"What are you then, lovely- Halfblood? Mudblood? Muggle? I know Scabs has never been too picky when it comes to his women. Then again, neither have I; you all taste the same, even the precious Purebloods."

Celestia came to her senses a little. Her bandaged hand scrambled weakly for a shard of broken glass, anything she might cut him with. Up close, she could see the dark burgundy stains on his near-black clothing. Xavier smiled down at her, his teeth beginning to take on a more sinister shape before her eyes.

"Atta girl," he growled. She could hear the ticking of his watch right beside her ear. "That's it, you fight it..."

Celestia's fingers caught hold of a piece of glass. The Werewolf wrenched it from her wavering grip the moment she took hold of it, leaving deep cuts across her already blistered palm.

"Good try," he said, tearing at her clothing to better get at her throat; Celestia tried for a scream as he bared down upon her, but it was barely a moan. The sharp fangs which had developed at the front of his mouth grazed hot against her skin. "but not good enough."

In the second before the world came to its end, Celestia heard the clearing of a throat.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Everything stopped but the music on the record player, which was jumping sporadically through the end of the song. The Werewolf looked over his shoulder to find his brother leaning against the door-frame, arms folded casually. Xavier grinned, sitting up on the girl's hips and holding out his hands welcomingly as though they were not covered in the young woman's blood.

"Scabs! Good to see ya!"

Scabior snapped his tongue, stepping forwards and ushering his little brother out of the way with a hard smack to the back of his head.

_"Ow-!"_

"Move, you muppet!"

Scabior grabbed Xavier by the back of his vest and wrenched him away from the girl. Xavier gave a breathy laugh.

"Good to see you too, big brother… blimey, you smell like a brewery. Been drownin' our sorrows at the Cauldron, 'ave we?"

"Shut it," Scabior balked, kneeling down and moving the glass from around the girl with a gloved hand before pulling her up into a sitting position, her head resting back against the wall where the mirror had been. She was barely conscious.

Scabior swore under his breath, a hand cupping the girl's cheek. "Celestia, love? You still with us?"

The Witch mumbled something under her breath. Her eyes were half-closed and unfocused.

"Awh, bloody hell, Xav. What have you done that for?!" Scabior barked, grabbing a towel from the radiator and pressing it against the girl's bleeding head. She soon slipped into unconsciousness.

"I was 'ungry," the younger brother said, "you know what I get like when I'm 'ungry. You might as well let me finish 'er off now, It'd be kinder at this point-"

"Pssh! You wish. It's a bump on the head, she's hardly at death's door. Help me get her into the bedroom."

"Fine, you dirty dog, but only if I get to go first."

Scabior thumped him in the arm, hard. Xavier broke into another pocked laugh.

"Oh, come on, Scabs, have a heart. The moon'll be up in less than twenty minutes, I was just about to sink me teeth in-"

"Yeah well she ain't yours to eat, is she?"

"Psshh! You never were any good at sharing your toys! Are you really gonna begrudge me some bit of skirt you grabbed at work? If she wasn't out of her wits she'd be begging me to put 'er out of 'er misery! Should 'ave heard her earlier, begging me to get her out of here like I was some sort of Prince Charming!"

Ignoring his brother, Scabior ripped the bandage off the unconscious girl's arm. The four deep claw marks flared a sickly red.

"See that? That's Fenrir Greyback's doing. She's _marked._ We've got an arrangement; once I've had my bit of fun with her I'll be giving her back to 'im to finish off. Do you really want to pick a fight with Greyback?!"

Xavier stared at the red gashes in the girl's flesh. Something like fear flashed in his eyes. Without another word, he helped his brother in scooping the girl up and carrying her through to the master bedroom. They lay her on the bed and Scabior sat beside her, patching up her head, blotting away the blood. He reached into his pocket and took out a pot of Bruisewort balm, along with its receipt.

"Well that's lucky," Xavier quipped. After a moment he understood the implications. "Oh, I see. That's where you've been. Feeling guilty, are we? Or is it just that when you're keeping her around for a bit of the other it's not as fun when she looks like she's gone four rounds with Chris Eubank? I don't know how you do it, personally; on my soul, I could never hit a woman."

"Oh, 'course not, you just eat 'em and smash 'em into mirrors."

"But there's a difference; that ain't personal, that's just hunger, like blockin' a pig for its bacon. You've smacked her up because she's pissed you off. So go on, what was it? She putting up a fight, refusing to play along?"

"Will you just put a cork in it?!" Scabior said, rubbing the yellow paste over the abrasions on the girl's skin, and gently, very gently, on the bruises beneath her eye. "You've really bashed her up, you idiot."

Xavier grimaced. One foot was still tapping. He was still very much on edge, scraping out her blood from underneath his nails with his teeth.

"You know I get a little carried away when I'm proper 'ungry. It's alright for you, you don't know what it's like. Besides, she did hit me round the 'ead with a kettle, the mad mare."

Scabior chuckled. "Did she really? That's my girl."

Xavier watched the sleeping Witch with a frown. Part of him did feel a little sorry for what he'd done to her. That part of him was small. Mostly, he still just wanted to eat her. Her blood had a sweetness to it that he found appealing.

"Well, at least you turned up just in time to save her. That's quite a coincidence."

"It's not a coincidence, you bloody animal. I've got it set up so that if the dog's going mad with the barking my wand makes sure I know about it; decent enough way of keeping intruders at bay. Seems the only intruder I ever get is you."

"I ain't no intruder. It's my house, too, by rights. It's sacrilege, you bringing that mangy mutt in here, and I see you've been letting madam here sleep in _my _bed. Mum would've killed you, keeping a hussy 'round the house."

"What'chu complaining for? You haven't spent a night here in years. You're too much of a lanky bastard to fit in it now anyway."

"I could smell myself on her, soon as she got close enough. Thought maybe I'd run into her before until I figured that much out. How long has she been here?"

"Couple of days. Caught 'er on the run with some lad."

"I take it said lad is no longer among the living. You'll be turning her in now, won't you, now that the Ministry's back open?"

"Of course," Scabior said, though not sincerely enough. Xavier frowned.

"See, brother, that's always been your problem. You let yourself get attached. Same with that old biddy next door."

"Mrs. Morrison used to patch up our knees when we fell off our bikes as kids, it's hardly surprising I've got a soft spot for 'er."

"Yeah, her and every other Muggle on this street. Keep people around too long and you start seeing 'em as... well, people."

Scabior shook his head a little. "Sounds like I'm not the one with the problem. Speaking of problems, what's brought you here, anyway? I haven't seen you in months and suddenly here you are, trying to rip my earnings to shreds. What possessed you to come here tonight, of all nights?!"

"I know, I know, full moon and all that, but they've took my Apparition license and I didn't realise how long it'd take to get here on Muggle transport. With the Ministry opened up again, I figured tonight was the only chance I'd have to catch 'ya. I was pretty sure you'd come back home with the Ministry out of action, and I just wanted to check in on you. And... well, I was just wondering if you could lend me some smackeroons. Nothing much, just a few Galleons to tide me over until I'm back on my feet. It's not easy finding honest work in my condition, you know."

"It's even harder finding honest work if you never bloody look for any," Scabior muttered; it was a line he'd heard a thousand times before. Even so, he went to the drawer in his bedside table and began cutting through the bag of Galleons he'd stolen from the girl's Grandfather. Xavier watched him eagerly.

"Blimey, Scabs, you could choke a dozen donkeys on that. Who did you snatch to get that sort of a payment, 'Arry Potter himself?!"

"Never you mind. 'Ere, there's a ton. Should keep you off the breadline for a while."

Xavier beamed at the money, pocketing it and kissing his brother firmly on his stubbled cheek.

"Oh, you beauty. Thanks, brother. Mum's smiling down, I bet, knowing that you're still looking out for me."

"Looking_ after_ you, more like."

Xavier ruffled his brother's hair, which was about as in need of further ruffling as a snake would be of roller skates. Scabior shoved him off, though not too harshly. Xavier turned to him with a grin.

"You know, I've been thinking, why don't I join up with your team? The Snatching game's all well and good, but there's not much money to be made in it when you're by yourself. I'm pulling in two, maybe three a week since that bloody Potterwatch broadcast starting helping all the punters get their wits about them. I joined up with you and your boys-"

"Not gonna happen, sparky. I've already got enough on my shoulders with Greyback, the last thing I need is another erratic Werewolf quite literally eating into my profits. Now go on, you'd better be on your way. I'd say you've got ten minutes before the moon makes an appearance and you try biting _my_ head off- and believe me, you won't get off so easily as you did with this little thing."

The two headed downstairs, and Scabior saw his brother off at the door. Before he left the house, Xavier pulled Scabior into a firm hug.

"See you soon, big brother."

Scabior tensed a little; Xavier nearly suffocated him in his grasp. The older brother still forgot at times that his younger sibling wasn't a kid anymore. Sometimes he couldn't help but treat him like one, even now. After a long moment, Scabior shrugged him off.

"I bloody well hope not. And you owe me a new mirror!"

Xavier was gone before the door could close, skulking across the street and disappearing into the treeline. As he went, the sounds of bones cracking could be heard. Even after so many years, the noise was enough to send a shiver up Scabior's spine.

Scabior sat beside Celestia on the bed again, pulling glass out of her hair and, after grabbing a pair of tweezers, out of her hands and bare arms. One particularly deep piece must have hurt quite terribly, as the moment he lodged it out the girl gave a sharp breath and opened her eyes wide.

Celestia sat up instantly, looking around in a panic, and Scabior caught her arms in his hands. She trashed a little more wildly for a moment before realising that the steely eyes staring into hers belonged to Scabior, not his brother. She let out an odd sort of sigh as her body relaxed a little.

"Hey, hey... you're alright, Veela. You're alright."

Celestia stared at him, not quite making sense of what had happened. Jinx was curled up at the end of the bed, laying over her feet.

"Your brother, the W-Werewolf..."

"He's gone."

"He t-tried to..."

"I know. Don't worry about it. He's gone."

Celestia looked around for quite some time, but finally believed him and settled a little. She touched the skin of her neck, where the wolf had grazed his teeth. Scabior raised his eyebrows.

"And you thought your family had problems."

"What happened?"

"Jinx set the alarms off; he's a bloody good dog. I got back 'ere soon as I could. Don't worry about Xavier, sent him on his way with his tail between his legs. I told you he's a terror when it's his time of the month."

The girl looked a little stunned, still not quite believing that she'd come through the ordeal relatively unscathed.

"He went for me, I had a knife but he... and you... you stopped him?"

She said it with surprise. She had closed her eyes again, leaning into the pillows, exhausted. Scabor stroked her hair back from her face; it left a bloody mark on his hand where he'd touched her.

"You wouldn't be here if I hadn't, would you? Besides, I won't get that 20 Galleons if you're in pieces."

Celestia smiled a little, although it wasn't a very funny joke, if it was indeed a joke at all.

"Oh God, my _head."_

Scabior fetched her a glass of water and two painkillers, along with a weak spell to help alleviate the symptoms. Celestia took all that was offered gratefully.

"He let himself in," she tried to explain after a few minutes of quiet. Somehow Scabior's arm had come to a rest around her shoulders, but she didn't remove herself from his hold. The two lay back against the pillows, both plenty exhausted. "He was okay at first, seemed pretty normal, then the air changed and he just pounced. I saw it coming, managed to get away, but there was nowhere to go with your bloody stupid jinx on the place. He kept talking, sort of teasing me while he..."

Celestia ran out of words. She remembered the glass shattering, and the way he had torn her dress. Scabior filled the silence.

"He was probably trying to frighten you. People taste better when they're scared, that's the idea the Werewolf community have gotten into their heads. Greyback says the same. Something to do with adrenaline, they reckon, but they're not bloody scientists. I think they just like scaring people. Xav has always liked the sound of his own voice. I suppose that much runs in the family."

"Thank you for not letting him eat me."

"Well," Scabior said, squeezing her shoulder a little awkwardly. "what else are friends for."

Celestia had little interest now in being awake. She leaned into him, almost snuggled up, her face partially buried in his chest. Scabior decided that she must have hit her head harder than he'd thought, but rested his head atop hers all the same as she fell asleep.


	7. Chapter Seven: The Lone Wolf

**Chapter Seven: The Lone Wolf**

Morning came before Scabior had any inkling he'd been falling asleep. Celestia was still pressed up against him, leaning on his now-dead arm. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away from her just yet.

Things felt, for the first time in a long while, peaceful. Scabior couldn't remember the last time he'd had a gentle altercation with anyone; it was pleasant to just sit quietly with someone, simply enjoying one another's presence. Celestia felt nothing of the sort of course, being asleep, but it was easy enough to pretend.

Scabior lifted her hand in his own gently, examining the jagged cut and the newly-formed blisters where she had, from what he'd heard last night, smashed his brother across the head with the kettle. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought; downstairs the kitchen was still in disarray, sugar scattered across the counter. The kettle lay on the floor in a puddle of cool water, cups smashed in the chaos. The moment he'd returned home he'd known it had to be his brother; Jinx wouldn't have been so exasperated had it been anyone else, not even a burglar, and the mess alone gave away what had happened. He'd hoped he hadn't been too late, with the moon not yet up; as luck would have it, he'd been just in time. He'd spent most of the night awake, listening to her breathing, and to the sour thoughts which bounced around his mind. He couldn't shake the image of what he might have come home to; a pile of bloody bones in the bathroom and his brother picking his teeth.

Scabior's smile faded as he turned the girl's palm over and saw the sharp pinkish bite at her wrist. What a stupid thing to do, he thought; he prided himself on not being an animal like his brother, and yet he was washed with shame when he looked at what he'd done to her. He looked at his own arm; there was not so much as a mark left over from where she'd bitten him. He turned her hand back over and released her.

Scabior experienced a moment of epiphany. He'd felt monstrous at the thought of allowing something so terrible to happen to her; and yet, was what he had planned for her much better? He'd felt so much vitriol towards his brother, and yet he'd done much the same; he'd hurt her, he'd frightened her, he'd threatened her over and over again. He'd wanted to protect her from his brother, and yet he'd not done the same against himself.

Xavier, he couldn't help the way he was. When he hurt people, when he did terrible things, it really wasn't personal. He was born a monster. At least he had an excuse.

Scabior sighed, trying to brush the thoughts from his mind which weighed so heavily. He weaved himself from beneath the heavy hold of the sleeping girl and sat up in bed, watching her sleeping face for a while; the bruise paste had worked its magic, and her skin was as porcelain-rose perfect as it had been when he had first found her. With a feather light touch he fingered the gold chain around her neck.

_Celestia._

He hadn't even noticed that she'd taken it back.

Scabior spent his first waking hour cleaning up the bathroom, scrubbing blood from the grout between the tiles; he thought it quite unfair that she should have to be witness to the scene of her near-murder when she woke. Most of the blood had dried, and with a little bleach and some magical intervention he managed to get the place looking spotless again but for the mirror, the pieces of which had no hope of ever being put back together, with or without magic. He took the shards downstairs along with the knife to be returned to the kitchen and set about cleaning up the mess from last night; a few spells later and things looked back to normal. The record player had ran its course, but was moaning slightly as the needle jumped at the centre of the vinyl. Scabior returned it to its resting position.

A sharp bark from Jinx announced that Celestia was up and about; Scabior saw her at the top of the stairs, descending them slowly, bracing herself against the balustrade.

"Hey, hey," he said, coming closer and offering his hand as she reached the last few steps. She didn't take it, advancing on her own.

"What's up, early bird? You shouldn't be up an about after last night."

"I'm starving," Celestia practically growled; she was swaying a little on her feet, but went straight for the fridge, rifling through the cooler. After a minute of frustration she let out a sigh, giving up on her endeavour. "How can you live in this place with no food?"

"I'm on the road most of the time, remember..."

Scabior saw that she'd taken off her bloody clothes and was wearing another one of his shirts; he headed back upstairs, fetching her a blanket and insisting that she sit down and rest. As he returned to the kitchen, she was rifling though the cupboards again. He noticed an empty packet of bacon on the kitchen counter and frowned.

Seemed odd, for a vegetarian.

He took her by the arm and turned her around from the fridge. She asked him what he was doing as he began rolling up the sleeves of her stolen shirt, examining her arms.

"He didn't nick you, did he? Even just a scratch at this time of the month..."

Celestia pushed him away as his hands reached her neck. "Oh, give over, I'm not a bloody Werewolf!"

She read worry in his eyes and relaxed a little. There was an odd, cloying smell about him, which she'd vaguely taken notice of the night before.

"...I'm alright, honestly. A little groggy, jumpy, even, but apart from that..."

Celestia's words failed as Scabior quickly raised his hands to either side of her face and held her still. He watched her eyes for a long while, trying to ensure they'd regained their focus. He eventually let her go, deciding she was not, in fact, delirious, or indeed blood-thirsty. Celestia bowed her head, rouging a little at the unexpected intimacy. Scabior saw Jinx was at his bowl, happily scoffing raw bacon.

"That was supposed to be my breakfast," Scabior said, with an air of hardly realising it.

"Yeah, well, I figured he deserves it, after raising the alarm last night. You'll just have to eat..."

Celestia went back to the fridge, pulling out a cheese-coloured bottle of milk, the smell of which was luckily contained by the lid, and some actual cheese which was the colour of moss.

"...Bugger all, like me."

Scabior frowned at the poor selection.

"...Yeah. I suppose a venture to the shops might be in order. There's bread in the bread bin, though. It'll have to be toast for now."

Toast it was. Celestia managed to find some apricot jam, and together the pair of them sat by the fire, Jinx between them, and ate quietly. To an onlooker, it might have seemed quite a homely scene, were it not for the maroon blood dried all through the girl's hair.

Scabior watched her thoughtfully. She looked how he felt; exhausted by it all. Her eyes, so bright and alive had they been when he'd first met her, were dull and sunken. Her skin had taken on a sallow quality which made her look not-quite alive, like a neglected porcelain doll. She seemed to be disappearing before his eyes, fading the way a ghost might. The last few days had taken their toll on her, just as they had on him. His symptoms were not quite so physical.

The wand-lore book was still face-down on the coffee table. Scabior raised an eyebrow at it.

"You've been reading."

She gave Scabior a questioning look. "So have you."

"It's one of my many talents," Scabior said. "If you must know I was sizing yours up. It's clear after the other night that you can't be trusted with it, so I was gonna see how much I can make off it on Nocturne Alley. There's quite a business about for Muggle-borns who have had their own gear confiscated wanting new wands. Yours should fetch a few Galleons, more than the Ministry would offer at any rate."

"No," Celestia said, with a dull sort of desperation. "Please."

"I've got to teach you a lesson somehow. We had only one rule and you went and broke it."

He expected resistance, or at least bargaining. It seemed all of the fight had gone out of her. She was starting to break, and it was deflating to watch.

"So what now?" Celestia asked dully.

Scabior proceeded with caution, not quite meeting her eye. "What d'you mean?"

"You went out yesterday to find out about the Ministry. Is it open?"

Scabior took a moment to answer.

"No," he lied. "They're still chasing Decoy Detonators about the place, apparently. You're stuck here with me."

"You were gone a long time."

"Well, I had to go and check up on my boys, make sure they've been behaving themselves."

The girl's attention was suddenly absolute. "What about Al? Is he...?"

"He's alive," Scabior assured her, leaning back in his chair. "Probably won't be as pretty as he was before once that broken nose heals, and he's got a couple of ribs knocked out of place, but he's alright."

"Are you telling me the truth?"

"Yes," he insisted, and he seemed genuine. Celestia wanted to believe him.

"And after that?"

"I had some business to tend to."

Celestia screwed up her nose. "Business in the Leaky Cauldron, by the smell of you. You stink to high heaven."

Scabior crossed one leg over the other. "You can't begrudge a man a drink or two, after having to listen to you yapping on and on for days on end."

"Easy enough solution to that; let me go."

"What, in the state you're in? You wouldn't last the night out there by yourself."

"I was lasting just fine until you came along."

Scabior bit his tongue, as not to say anything which would upset her. He wondered exactly when he had started to care about her feelings. Again he took notice of the dried blood in her hair. Celestia quickly understood what he was staring at and smoothed a hand over her usually bright locks.

"Yeah, I know. I tried getting in the shower first thing but I just got all dizzy and gave up."

Scabior leaned towards her. He brushed a hand over the non-bloodied side of her head, his fingers feathering through the yellow strands.

"Come with me."

It took some convincing but eventually Celestia agreed to follow the Snatcher into the bathroom, where he took the shower head off the wall and rinsed out her hair on her behalf. He sat behind her on the edge of the bath, being careful not to hose the linoleum as he warmed the water, checking it with his hand to ensure it was not too hot. Carefully he brought the stream up to the back of the girl's hair and allowed the water to loosen the matted area surrounding the angry red cut his brother had dealt her.

The water quickly began to run pink, her hair turning from burgundy back to platinum. The water ran down the shirt she wore- his shirt- turning it from beige to a burnt umber, the fabric sticking skin-tight to her back, pulling in at her girlish waist. Scabior brought his fingers beneath her neck and allowed them to run through the waterfall of her hair. He reached for the shampoo and began to gently massage the horrors of the night before away, watching them swirl down the plug.

"You could stay here, you know," he said quietly, the words leaving him before he had a chance to stop them. "With me. No one would look for you here. You'd be safe."

Celestia could hardly believe what she was hearing. He seemed surprised himself.

"Until you got bored of me and sold me out, like the others. Forgive me if I reject the invitation to be your... your..."

"That's not what I said," he interrupted, pulling her hair a little harder.

She didn't know what she was talking about. This wasn't like the others. He wouldn't deny that there had been others, but they were few and far between, and none of them had ever lasted longer than a night; he'd bring them back here, kicking and screaming just as Celestia had, do as he pleased with them and then come the morning he would not even want to look at them; just the sight of them in his bed would repulse him. He'd drag them straight to the Ministry and that would be that; off his hands and off his mind, never to be thought about again, just one of the perks of the job, a story to tell the lads once he headed back to camp.

He realised now, after a long night of contemplation, that it was himself he was disgusted by, not the frightened, impassioned people who had fallen prey to his attentions. He could not bear to be around them and rid himself of them as quickly as possible because he was ashamed of what he had done. He wondered how he had ever been so blindly unaware, so out of touch with his own actions; after only two days with Celestia, he no longer wanted to do anything to her other than what she might want too. He felt he knew her as a person, and there was plenty about her that he liked in amongst the things she did that riled him. He didn't want to hurt her, but had she not been an investment for him, she most likely would have ended up like the others he had stolen away in the night. He could hardly even imagine treating her so cruelly and was ashamed of the damage he had already dealt her, , both mental and physical.

The sticky thought stayed with Scabior that, had he taken the chance to know the others he'd taken as people rather than playthings, he would most likely have felt the same way about them. Had he ever really seen them, ever really looked, he might never have done the awful things he had.

"It wouldn't be like that," Scabior told the girl, softening again. "I'd keep you safe."

"From yourself, as well? For how long?"

Scabior had to be honest with himself; did he trust himself to keep things purely platonic? She'd almost certainly be snatched up out there on her own if she was out on the run again. He'd be doing a favour, and a huge one at that; was it so wrong to expect a little something in return?

The Snatcher frowned, his fingers still in her hair.

"It would be better than running for the rest of your life. Besides, where else have you got to go?"

"Home," Celestia said quickly, her voice catching, before she bowed her head. She knew that much was an impossibility. The water ran against her cheeks like a waterfall, hiding the tears that followed.

"I want to go home."

Neither of them said a word for the duration of the time in the bathroom, nor spoke of it again after it was done. As Celestia squeezed the water out of her hair she was extra gentle around her scalp as not to set it bleeding again. Scabior disappeared from the bathroom and returned with some new clothes for her, which Celestia accepted gratefully. She was pleased to find that they were nothing licentious, just a zip-up hoodie in a dark purple velvet and a pair of black leggings that were determined not to stay up around her waist.

"Where did these come from?" Celestia asked.

"Found a backpack with 'em in when I was rolling around under the bed trying to find your wand after our little tiff. Is the fit alright?"

"It's fine," Celestia said, grateful to finally have clothes which covered more than the sundress she'd opted for at the start of her ordeal, but with a clench in her chest at the thought of where her new clothes had come from. She saw that he had left the backpack open on one of the chairs; it was lilac-coloured with a dozen keyrings hanging off the zipper. Celestia tried to picture the runaway it had belonged to, frightened and alone as she had been; the clothes felt suddenly tainted, and she felt an urge to claw her way out of them.

"What was her name?"

Scabior said nothing. Celestia felt the ache in her chest deaden.

"You don't even know, do you?"

The man turned away. The silence continued, but he would not look at her.

"Do you remember any of their names?" Celestia's voice was sorrowful, not accusing. "Did you even ask?"

Scabior said nothing. After a long moment he stood, still not making eye contact, and left the room.

Celestia stayed put. She heard him calling Jinx in from outside, heard the dog's excitability as his master promised him a walk. Together they left out the front door and Celestia was alone again.

The first thing Celestia felt was a misplaced sense of dread at being without the Snatcher. Unlikely as it was, she could not rid the thought from her mind that Scabior's brother would suddenly appear at any moment to finish what he had started last night; though her exhaustion had allowed her to escape any nightmares she might have experienced about the attack in the few hours she had slept since, she imagined she would not be so lucky in the nights to come.

Replaying the Snatcher's words in her head, Celestia found herself looking beneath the bed to see if there was anything else hiding there which might tell stories of the other so-called_ 'Undesirables'_ who had found themselves prisoner in this house. Instead she found a photo album, tattered around the edges, filled with magical photographs of the odd little family which had once inhabited the house with life; the woman who had so often watched Celestia from above the fireplace finally came to life here, and she was smiling, holding on to a baby bundled in blankets; in the next picture she held a new baby, and the hand of a little boy who could only be Scabior, who kept looking away from the camera to pull up one sock which must have been irritating him.

Celestia watched the boys grow up as the pages went on, watched as Xavier outgrew his brother, watched as the two fought one another in a playground, looked on as Xavier stood beside his eleven-year old brother in his new school robes and watched as he waved his brother off at platform nine-and-three-quarters. There was a picture like this every year, of Scabior in his uniform with Xavier by his side as they stood in front of the Hogwarts Express; and now Xavier had a uniform of his own, surprisingly in Gryffindor red rather than Slytherin green. Celestia imagined what the two of them must have been like, terrorising the quieter students and flirting with anything with a pulse. Scabior was exactly as Celestia had imagined him, blossoming at fifteen with that melting smile, budingly handsome in his Slytherin robes. He was a looker by sixteen, and by seventeen it was clear that he'd realised it for himself. A group of the giggling girls were visible in the window behind them, watching as the two brothers posed. Celestia knew his type; he'd have been the sort of boy you wished would talk to you but would never even know you were there. Mysterious, unfriendly, even, but difficult to look away from. Dangerous even back then. Celestia was glad they hadn't been at school together.

After that the pictures unceremoniously stopped. After Scabior's seventh year, there was nothing, just an album filled with empty pages. Celestia thought for a while, and deciphered for herself why; the two brothers no longer had a photographer.

Celestia sighed deeply. She had imagined when Scabior had talked of losing his mother it had been to old age or some other malady; he was not a young man, and unfair as it might seem, no one can hold onto their mothers forever. At some point every child must say goodbye, but to lose your compass at seventeen, with a thirteen-year old brother to take care of, was a tragedy.

Having come at age at seventeen Scabior would have been the man of the house by law, and expected to raise his little brother- and a Werewolf at that- alone. Alone, in this creaky little house, with no money and no guidance. It was no wonder he had turned to a life of crime.

Celestia scanned back to the final picture; she could see a brand new watch beneath Scabior's long sleeve, rolled carefully as to show off the new accessory, a sign of his coming of age, as was tradition; it was the same watch that Xavier had been wearing last night. Celestia closed the book, tucked it back where it had been, and left the bedroom for the last time.

It was not long before Scabior returned with Jinx, the latter traipsing muddy paw-prints all around the house as Scabior chased him about, swearing, and trying to hit the hound's paws with_ 'Scourgify'._ Celestia couldn't help but laugh this time at the repeat of the ridiculous scene, and while part of him wanted to stay annoyed, the infectious giggling set Scabior chuckling, too.

When the mirth had dissipated, the Snatcher restrained from telling her how he thought she looked in her fresh state, though she did look beautiful, now that the Bruisewort balm had worked its magic and the cuts and bruises the last few days had all together lessened. Her hair had dried a little more wildly than usual and danced about her shoulders lightly. He felt quite embarrassed about his earlier proposition and subsequent rejection.

"That was a long walk," Celestia said; the man and his dog had been gone for at least an hour. "I'm surprised he could carry on that long, with his dodgy leg."

"He's got a lot of pent-up energy; he's a Snatchin' dog, bare in mind. Lives for the chase. He's had no one to sink his teeth in for weeks."

"I'm feeling like tea," Celestia said, taking herself into the kitchen and grabbing two cups. "We'll have to leave the milk, but it's better than nothing. Are you having tea?"

Scabior was a little taken aback; he couldn't remember the last time anyone had done anything for him without being ordered to. He told the girl as much.

"Tell someone to do something for you and they'll do it begrudgingly," Celestia said, filling the kettle, pausing to wrap a tea towel around the handle. "Treat them right and you'll never have to."

"I've not exactly been what I'd call _right_ to you. So why are you doing it?"

Celestia dropped a teabag into each of the empty cups. She frowned to see that the sugar caddy was empty too, all of its contents spilled in last night's chaos.

"Tea with no milk, or sugar? I'd say that's cruelty in itself."

The kettle quickly came to a boil. Celestia grabbed her tea towel and reached for the handle once more; Scabior reached out to stay her hand.

"Oh, bugger that. We can't have tea without milk, that's a crime. You know what? Bugger this, as well. Let's just get it over with."

He drew out his wand, pointing it at Celestia; instinctively she moved out of his way, but he rolled his eyes and began muttering a long incantation at her anyway. Celestia watched as all of the potentially damaging objects in the room began to glow a hot red colour, then a sunset orange, then returned back to their normal states.

"Gone," Scabior told her, waving his hands to affirm the fact. "No more hexes; go on, touch it."

Cautiously, not quite believing it wasn't some cruel trick, Celestia touched the kettle with the back of her hand. When it did not bubble and blister, she gave a gentle sigh of relief.

"Get your coat on. We're going out."

Celestia looked surprised. "Where?"

Scabior pushed his wand back into its holster, squashed in beside Celestia's.

"To get some milk," he said, jaw squared. "Coat, shoes. Let's go."

There was something final in his voice. Celestia felt an odd weight in her chest. While he fumbled about in the bedroom, Celestia pulled on the tan coat he'd lent her and moved waspishly back into the kitchen, where she stood frozen before the knife rack. Twelve weapons awaited her selection.

Celestia was not fool enough to think that it was really milk the Snatcher was pursuing_. Let's get it over with,_ he'd said. It was clear that he had finally grown tired of her and all the trouble she had brought him. It was time to meet her fate at the Ministry.

The young Witch knew that if she was to escape Azkaban, there was only one way to do it; pocket a knife without his noticing, and attack the Snatcher. If she pulled it off, she'd be free to go... _where,_ exactly? Where was there left for her to run to?

Celestia stared at the knives. _Do it_, she thought. _Do it now, or it'll be too late._

But Celestia's hands wouldn't move. She couldn't pick up a knife, not even the smallest of them. She didn't want to hurt Scabior, not like that. He had hurt her, he had humiliated her, but she didn't want to _kill_ him. From his seat on the blue chair, Jinx lifted an inquisitive ear at her.

By then the moment had passed. It was too late.

"Didn't you here me say get your shoes on?" Scabior said from the bottom step, looking at her like she was stupid. She stared back as though she was. "Come on, chop chop!"

With her shoes on her feet and everything in order, Celestia left the cottage with the ghost of a limp in her step. She found that she was able to step through into the cold morning air without interruption. It felt, for a moment, like a breath of heaven. At least this, whatever it had been, was ending now. Celestia felt suddenly that the Snatcher was right; _get it over with._

Scabior closed the door behind them, locking it with a regular key. Mrs. Morrison was out in her garden again, waving. At some point, as promised, Scabior had mown her lawn. He waved back, and so did Celestia, but neither said a word.

They walked a little while in the midst of the quiet, cozy village, with cobbled streets and a smattering of elderly people going about their business, tending to gardens and washing cars. Far below in the valley Celestia could see the town centre from the cobbled path they travelled, housing homely tea parlours in the tiny town which had so far escaped gentrification, a collection of memorandum of the past.

They were not too far from London, Celestia knew; why Scabior hadn't just apparated them to the Ministry she didn't understand. Perhaps she felt, as he did, not quite ready to close this chapter. Her reasons for such were clear; her story would finish with a cold cell in Azkaban. Why he would be so reluctant, she couldn't quite fathom.

"I can see why you like living here," Celestia said as they stopped atop the cobbled hill. There was a saltiness to the air; they couldn't be far from the sea. Celestia longed to feel the sand between her toes, even if it was cold and wet as the English weather would permit. "It's lovely."

"It's quiet," Scabior said, but he didn't seem very invested; his eyes were unfocused, a little dreamy. His speech trailed off as the wind whipped up his hair, hiding his face. There was no one around now. The chill rose in the morning air. Celestia pulled the coat closed around her middle, confused.

"What is it?" she asked uneasily, noting the contemplative expression on his face. She felt as though a swarm of Dementors had just swept over the sleepy village.

Scabior turned slowly to her, as though he'd forgotten she was there.

"I didn't take the dog for a walk this morning… well, he did some walking, and I did some too, but we didn't exactly go 'round the block."

Celestia swallowed hard. Perhaps it was his rejection of his earlier suggestion and that had spurred things on, made him impatient to get rid of her and angsty to find out when the Ministry would finally be willing to take her off his hands. Perhaps it was embarrassment at her dismissal; perhaps his proposal had been more than just wistful talk.

"I understand," the young woman said, steadying herself; whatever happened next, she was ready. She had to be, if she was going to survive it. "You've made your decision."

"Yeah. I have."

Celestia looked down. Scabior did, too.

"I wanted to say, mad as it sounds, I've enjoyed your company. You're a nice girl, and I'm sorry we met how we did. Though I can't say I'll miss all the drama that came with you."

"No, I don't suppose you will. I guess all that will follow me to the Ministry."

The name of the place seemed to bring Scabior very much into the present. He looked at her intensely for a long moment before taking something from the inner pocket of his coat. By rights it shouldn't have fit in there, but it did all the same; a large hessian bag which jingled as he put it into Celestia's hands. Celestia recognised it as the bag he had stolen from her Grandfather.

"Scabior... what are you...?"

"Well it's yours, really, ain't it I've taken care of me'self and me brother, you understand, but the rest is yours."

The hand returned to his holster and drew out her wand. He handed that over to her, too. Celestia took it, astonished.

"There. You passed your Apparation class, didn't you?"

Celestia nodded, dumbfounded.

"'Course you did, you clever girl. That means... well, you don't need me for the rest of it. You can make it on your own."

Celestia shook her head. This was not at all how she had expected things to go. "I... I don't understand... I thought..."

"That's three-hundred galleons in that bag. Get yourself home then get your family on a train down to Portsmouth. There'll be a man waiting for you on the beach at seven o'clock on Thursday night with a Port-key that'll take the lot of you to France; it's all arranged. If you've got any sense left in that head after what my brother did to you you'll stay there until all this Dark Lord nonsense blows over. If it doesn't blow over, well... I hear Marseilles is lovely place all year round."

Celestia stared at him, astonished.

"You're letting me go?"

"Yeah, if that's what you wanna call it. I'm letting you go."

"I thought that you were taking the Ministry-"

"Fuck the Ministry," Scabior spat. He clasped her hands and pushed the gold and wand towards her chest. "Knock that in your sky rocket and go home, Veela. I'll tell the lads that you pulled a fast one on me, or that you misbehaved once too often and I did you in. Sod the money, sod the Ministry... sod the lot of 'em. Just go, _now,_ before I come to my senses and drag you down there."

Celestia was stunned at the turn of events, but wasn't stupid enough to let the opportunity pass. She imagined Scabior's mind might be changed in an instant should she so much as say the wrong thing, so she stayed quiet, but couldn't shake the feeling that this might all be some spiteful joke. All the same, she held her wand out in one hand, trying her best to remember the three D's- _Destination, Determination, Deliberation-_ so that she wouldn't end up splinched on the journey. As she prepared herself, she suddenly paused.

"Your coat," Celestia said, beginning to shrug the tan garment from her shoulders. Scabior put his hand there to stay her.

"Keep it," he said. "I hate to say it, but it looks better on you."

Celestia tried to make sense of him, shrugging the sleeve back on. He seemed almost melancholy.

"And don't forget, seven o'clock, Portsmouth beach, Thursday night. Maybe I'll see you again, once all of this is over."

"Maybe," Celestia said breathily. She looked away, giving him a teasing smile.

"I'll come and visit you in Azkaban, if you'd like."

He laughed, really laughed, for the first time in a long while. It had a whimsical tone, as though the sounds were dancing off his tongue. It calmed Celestia to see him like that; he looked as though he didn't have a care in the world.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

They smiled at one another for moment, until it evaporated on the air. It was time to part ways.

Before she could ready her wand again, Scabior took Celestia's hand and kissed it, his chin pressed against the serpent ring. He held her hand close to his face for a long moment, lips pressed to her knuckles, his blue eyes locked onto hers. He gave a deep sigh. Neither of them so much as blinked. There was a sadness to his eyes which Celestia hasn't seen there before; it was something like regret. When he let go he did so slowly, raising both their hands high into the air before gently letting hers fall.

"Goodbye, beautiful."

Scabior began to walk away, back towards the cottages. Celestia didn't seem quite ready to let go.

"Scabior," she called, her voice uneven. He paused, but did not turn back. Celestia wasn't even sure what she wanted to say.

"Just... look after yourself, okay?"

He smiled a little. She caught a hint of it when he turned a fraction, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Always have done, my lovely."

He waited for quite some time to hear the crack as she disapperated; she was lingering, uncertain. The wild wind whipped about his head, filling him with its icy touch as he listened for that unmistakable sound. A seagull took off from a near by lamppost as the crack resonated in the air, and headed out towards the ocean, cawing as it went.

Scabior turned back; she was gone. He sank his hands into his pockets and began to walk away.

"Always will."


	8. Chapter Eight: A Visitor

**Chapter Eight: An Unexpected Visitor**

It was a surprise to everyone in the Monanchor family when they returned home to England and found, among the slew of post addressed to them at the post office, a letter saying that Mordecai Elias Monanchor, father to Cressida and Grandfather to Celestia, had passed away peacefully in his sleep seven months ago. More surprising than this was that, only weeks before his death, Mordecai had changed his will and instead of leaving his assets to the Ministry's department of Magical Law Enforcement had left every penny and every brick of his estate to his estranged granddaughter, the last Magical member of the once proud Wizarding family.

It was June and the weather was beautiful. For almost ten months the family had been refugees in a tiny French village, with no contact with the Wizarding community other than Celestia's new-found appreciation for the Potterwatch broadcast which her friend Aloxus had so faithfully followed. The Muggle Liaison Office had fixed things with the local authorities so that there were no questions asked when the family returned to England after their moonlight flit, and non-magical family and friends were lead to believe that they had simply taken a very spontaneous holiday. Celestia found it liberating to set foot on English soil again, and to feel as though she belonged there.

As the young woman and her parents drove up the drive of the manor house bearing their name, they could hardly believe the change in their fortunes; the vast property was a far cry from the run-down Muggle housing estate the family had lived within since Celestia's parents had married. Cressida, having not been near the place since she was a teenager, broke down in tears at the realisation that she was finally being allowed back home. She wept as she walked up the grey slate steps; she wept as she turned the key in the door; and she wept, most of all, as she saw the House-Elf Sanchie waiting to greet them the other side, scooping the tiny creature up into her arms and sobbing that she had not aged a day since Cressida had left the family home.

"Sanchie is almost one-hundred and fifty years old, Madam Cressida," Sanchie squeaked, her already huge eyes bulging from the force of the hug. "She has aged indeed. As has the Madam; apologies, apologies. And here is Mistress Celestia. She looks quite the same, though much cleaner and less frightful than last Sanchie saw her, and keeping much better company than the dirty Snatcher she was with before."

Celestia's mother gave a look of surprise; Celestia had kept most of the details of her time on the run to herself. Cressida knew her daughter had narrowly escaped capture where her friend Aloxus had not, and that she had found her ancestral home during her troubles only to find herself quite dejected by Mordecai, but had heard nothing of the supposedly dirty Snatcher who she had been travelling with. There was a pause as the odd little family pondered their new-found situation.

"Dave?" Celestia's mother said warily, looking behind them; Celestia too saw the expression on her father's face, a suitcase in either hand as he stood frozen at the bottom of the steps, pale as milk. Celestia grimaced.

"You okay, Dad?" she eased, realising this must be quite a shock to the senses. He moved to nod his head, but then shook it instead.

"Not to be rude," Celestia's father spoke up, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as he stared at the tiny creature still cradled in his wife's arms, "but what the _fuck_ is that?!"

The next few days passed in a blur as the family tried to make the house their own. Sanchie was quite put out by all of the muggle appliances the new generation of Monanchor's introduced to the home, and though she was quite loathe against going anywhere near the fridge or the microwave, she found the television to be the most sacrilegious. Celestia soon found that Sanchie, having been so long without a Master or Mistress, followed her about like a lost puppy, awaiting orders with pained desperation. As the only magical member of the household, she recognised the girl as the head of the house. The Elf seemed to struggle with the presence of her father and insisted upon calling him_ 'the Muggle Man'_, rather than his preferred name, which he reminded her constantly was Dave. She soon took to calling him _'Muggle Man-Dave'_ instead, thinking that somehow better.

It made Celestia quite uncomfortable to have the little Elf so dependent upon her, and to be expected to give orders. She felt like a slave driver, though her mother assured her, much as the Hogwarts teachers always had about the Elves working in the kitchens, that that was not how House-Elves felt about the situation. Celestia wasn't so sure, and imagined her friend Lamia, who was a passionate advocate of the S.P.E.W. society, would have plenty to say on the matter when she came to visit.

One evening, two weeks or so after moving into the new house, Celestia sat in the grand living room of her new home, still feeling as though she did not quite belong there. She was staring at the portrait of her grandparents above the fire; more specifically, at her grandmother. Every now and then she would reach up a hand to tuck a lose thread of hair behind her ear, showing off the dazzling diamond studs she wore. It was true that there was quite a family resemblance, though her grandmother wore her natural brunette hair, not the platinum colour which Celestia and her mother favoured.

Celestia fingered the ring on her hand. In the portrait her grandmother wore the same ring, the platinum shining brilliantly even in the painting. She looked very happy in the portrait; even her Grandfather did, glowing in his youthful state, his fingers brushing her grandmother's shoulder every now and then. She hoped they were happy together now.

"Sanchie?" Celestia called, quite aware that the little Elf was peering over the side of the armchair at her, waiting patiently for any kind of instruction.

The Elf shuffled into Celestia's field of vision. "Yes, Mistress?"

"I'd like to give you something."

Celestia twisted the serpent ring from her finger and very gently handed it to the Elf. Sanchie stared at it in awe, cradling it in both hands.

"Madam Celeste's ring, it is."

"Yes."

The Elf caressed it lovingly.

"A gift from Master Mordecai, it was. A sign of their engagement. Madam Celeste loved it oh so much."

"Yes, she did. Which is why I think you should have it."

Sanchie's huge eyes grew even wider. Her tiny hands began to tremble.

"Sanchie can not take it, Mistress. No, no, no. Mistress does not understand these things; apologies, apologies. If Sanchie accepted this gift, Sanchie would be a free Elf."

"Yes, you would. I _want_ you to have it."

Sanchie studied the ring, a frown on her little face.

"Sanchie would be free. Free to do whatever she thought good and right."

Celestia smiled. "Yes, you would."

"Even... even to stay here, in the Monanchor manor, with Mistresses Cressida and Celestia and the Muggle Man-Dave?"

Celestia felt her heart fill, a pleasant sort of ache.

"Of course, Sanchie. Of course you can stay. It's your home more than ours."

Very slowly the House-Elf slid the platinum ring onto her tiny wrist, where it sat securely as a bracelet. She held it up to the light to admire it, the crystal from the chandelier setting it glittering; after a moment her huge eyes filled with tears, and she clutched to Celestia's skirt, first in gratitude, and then to use it as an enormous tissue with which to wipe her eyes and nose.

The Monanchor home soon became a happy place to live again. With Sanchie embracing her new-found freedom and Celestia's father learning to accept the odd elements of the magical world he now faced (as well as his new nickname), it seemed to Celestia that this was how life should always have been. She could almost forget her months on the run, and the horrors she had seen, and that there had ever been a war at all.

But there was one thing she had been unable to forget.

Al, thank God, had survived the Snatchers and found himself in Azkaban for the remainder of the second Wizarding war; that much Scabior had been truthful about. Celestia had been to visit Al in his family home as often as she could, and found him almost completely back to his old self; though there was a hollowness there, something missing which had always been present before. Sometimes she would catch him staring at nothing, or an unexpected sound would cause him to flinch and look about. Celestia might never forgive herself for that. She would always feel that what had happened to her friend was her fault entirely.

One morning, however, a letter arrived, with answers to a question Celestia had been unable to settle in her mind since the day she and her parents had left for France all those months ago. It arrived by Owl, to the surprise of her father, and Celestia took it quickly away to her room to read.

When she came back down, she was dressed for harsh weather, and had a suitcase packed.

"I'm going away for a couple of days," Celestia announced to the family, ensuring she had all the essentials. "If Aloxus or Lamia or any of the others come to visit, tell them they're welcome to stick around. I'll be home before you know it."

Despite a barrage of questions from her concerned parents and the most concerned of all, Sanchie, Celestia was out of the door within twenty minutes, kissing each of them on the cheek and telling them not to worry as she went, the letter plunged deep down in the pocket of her tan leather coat. At the end of the long drive Celestia withdrew her wand, and seconds later she was stood in an alcove on the corner of Great Scotland Yard, nestled just behind the Police stables. The smell of horses was rich in the air, causing Celestia's nose to twitch as she straightened herself and headed out onto the street as though things were completely normal. She had never been to the Ministry before, and the whole prospect filled her with a sense of unease. By the time she'd found the famous bathrooms and endured the ordeal of flushing herself into the Ministry's entrance hall, she was feeling quite flustered. Celestia stood for a moment in the base of the fireplace, watching people bustling left and right as they went about their day. The hall was marvellous, great glazed emerald and garnet bricks lining the walls, the hall so large she could not see from one end to the other.

She followed the crowds through to the main auditorium, where the grotesque 'Magic is Might' statue had once stood. Celestia could still see the thing in her mind; it had been in all of the newspapers, emblazoned across the front of the Daily Prophet, a huge grey monstrosity depicting dozens of Muggles crushed beneath the weight of their betters. Celestia paused again to look around; things seemed so ordinary, so peaceful, that it was hard to believe that only a few months ago this place had been filled with Dementors and propaganda, that Snatchers had prowled the halls, dragging their victims to and fro as the rest of the magical world went about their daily lives. Celestia pictured herself being dragged through here by Scabior, how terrified she would have been at the grandiosity of it all; in her mind she saw Al, beaten and battered, being hauled through the crowds of workers, none of them batting an eye. Shaking the thought away the headed for the help desk, and was quickly directed to a waiting room, where she sat with a host of other characters as they waited for the inevitable.

Celestia found herself most uncomfortable as she waited for the escort of Aurors who would take them across to Azkaban. Once the Aurors came they confiscated everyone's wand and put their personal belongings put into storage, then one by one every person stepped into the room's grand fireplace, and found themselves at the docks, where they were crammed onto a small boat.

The journey to the prison was an arduous one. The complex was only accessible by natural means; apparition and any other magical alternatives were banned should they lead to a prisoner's escape. Celestia had discovered that she was prone to seasickness as they'd sailed to the hidden island, though part of her couldn't help but wonder if the cause was nerves. The back half of the ship was off limits; it was being used to transfer new prisoners, a trio of Death-Eaters who, according to one of the Aurors, had turned tail at the battle for Hogwarts upon seeing that the fabled Harry Potter had defied death, and had since managed to evade capture.

She had little to do with the other visitors as they completed their unsavoury journey together; most kept their heads down, some of them perhaps having narrowly escaped Azkaban themselves. Most were younger women, most likely visiting imprisoned partners, and there were a cluster of older couples who must be visiting their wayward offspring; Celestia tried to imagine what it would be like, having a war-criminal for a child, a Death-Eater for a husband... or a father. She noted that no children had made the journey to the island.

By the time they arrived at the island, Celestia wanted nothing more than to go home. It was cold and harsh and miserable. She sat in a dismal dungeon-like waiting room as one by one the visitors were called up by jailers and ushered off to visit their various wayward friends and relatives. After an hour of waiting, Celestia's name was finally called by a tiny Jailer with a golden tooth at the front of his mouth and a thick accent which she couldn't quite place.

"I must say, we were quite surprised when we received an information request about this one," the Jailer said as he led Celestia through the cold, damp corridors. It sounded as though there were whispers on the air at every turn; mould festered in corners and on ceilings; skittering sounds emulated from behind the walls. "Who are you, then? Sister? Girlfriend?"

"A friend," Celestia said carefully. The Jailer scoffed.

"You should choose your friends more wisely, Miss. This one might strike as a charmer to the uninitiated, but he's a nasty piece of work."

"Believe me, I'm initiated," Celestia said shortly. She had the scars to prove it. "I know what he is."

The Jailer curled his lip. "We never used to have visitors here, you know. No no no. It's that new Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt. The Ministry workers who come here all says he's a right hard arse, but I'm thinking he must be soft as pudding. There's been talk that he's planning on shutting this place down; _inhumane,_ apparently. Dementors were good enough for hundreds of years, I don't see why it should all be pointy-nosed Aurors now."

Celestia, for one, was glad that it was the Aurors who had taken over guarding Azkaban; she imagined the prisoners all felt the same. Most of the Dementors had been expelled from service, though one or two still drifted about the outer walls. Celestia hadn't seen a Dementor in the flesh since her last year at Hogwarts, when they'd been sent in to track down the fugitive Sirius Black. She found that she could hardly look at them as she'd sailed towards the prison on the Ministry's ship, frightening as they were. She hated to think what the prison would have been like back when the dark beings infested the place.

"Think of it; visitors, for these scumbags! Most of 'em arm-in-arm with you-know-who! Pshh!"

"He's dead now, you can say his name," Celestia reminded the man, and swallowed hard before affirming the fact herself. She hadn't said it since that night in the forest, when it had almost torn her world apart. _"Voldemort."_

The Jailer started a little. "Eugh, I don't know. Still gives me the shivers. Either way it seems wrong keeping 'em cosy when half of 'em were out there murdering littleuns up in Scotland on the night the Dark Lord popped his clogs! It's a disgrace, if you ask me!"

Celestia couldn't help but frown. The battle at Hogwarts had been calamitous for all involved. So many had died that night, those fighting for and against injustice. After writing letter after letter of enquiry, Celestia had finally heard back from the Ministry; the death count was so high that there were still people labelled missing, and when the Covered Bridge at the school had been blown, three hundred people- most of them Snatchers and Werewolves attempting to breach the castle- had been cast into the ravine below; many of them had died, hitting the ground before they had known what was coming.

But not all of them.

When they reached the door of the visitors room, the Jailer opened it up, wand in hand, and motioned Celestia inside.

"I'll be back in an hour, Missy. If he gives you any trouble, just scream. Loud as you can, mind; I'm going a little deaf in my old age... someone'll come running, I'm sure."

_How reassuring,_ Celestia thought, as the door was slammed and she was left alone with the prisoner.

Chained to his seat behind a heavy wooden desk, the man looked up through his mess of dark hair at the young woman who had just stepped into the room and whistled low.

_"Ooh-la-la."_

Scabior's face broke into a grin. Celestia tried to smile back. He looked terrible, though not as terrible as she'd imagined Azkaban would leave a person. He'd lost weight and muscle, the skin around his face tighter, but he was okay. She was happy to see him alive, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why she cared so much. Perhaps it was a little Stockholm Syndrome, after he had rescued her from his brother and had the heart to let her go. Healthy or not, she couldn't help but feel something for him. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but in her months away abroad she had thought more about the Snatcher than she had about Al, or any other friends she'd left behind.

"How was France? Did you bring me something back? A French poodle?"

She was glad to see he hadn't lost his sense of humour.

_"Non, monsieur._ Couldn't sneak it past the guards."

"Shame. Not even a croissant? I'd_ Crucio_ someone for a croissant right about now; or anything that isn't watery oats, really. You look different."

She did. The Witch was leaner, harder in face. He could see the outline of muscle in the tops of her arms as she removed the coat he'd given her, where the four thick scars left by Greyback still weighed upon her otherwise unblemished skin.

Celestia folded her arms. "You taught me that without a magical stick I couldn't protect myself. I started going to the gym; now I can."

Scabior nodded, a little taken aback, guilt swimming up in him at the accusation behind her words. "Good for you, kid. Good for you."

Celestia sat down in the only empty chair, which was bolted to the floor. She took a moment to settle herself before speaking again. "You look different, too. I've gotta say, I preferred you with the look of Adam Ant's demented brother."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He jangled the chains for effect, seeming to melt in his black-and-white prison get-up. The dull palette and innocuous uniform had stolen all of his character and sallowed his cheeks. He was not the lively, fantastical predator she remembered in her mind, and seemed much less of an enigma without his stylised appearance. He was just a man, and a tired, ageing one at that. There was something both comforting and saddening about the realisation.

"The red's almost gone from your hair," Celestia noted. It was the only thing he'd been allowed to retain which whispered of the caddish style he favoured, and after months in prison, was growing out quickly.

"I know. I must look a right state. Maybe next time you could sneak me in some hair dye."

"Next time? That's pretty presumptuous."

As he raised his hands in a mock show of peace, the chains connected to him jangled. "Forgive me, Veela. I've forgotten a little of my shining decorum, after doing me business in a bucket for months."

"But none of your charm, I see. Do you know how difficult it was to arrange this visit? It's taken me weeks to find out what happened to you, if you were even alive."

"You went to all that effort for little old me? I'm touched." He leaned in closer across the table. "But seriously. Thanks. It's good to see a friendly face... _bird-I-once-kidnapped-and-terrorised_ is about as friendly as the faces get round 'ere. I'm surprised you turned up."

"I did say I'd come and visit you when you ended up in here."

"I thought you were joking."

"I was," Celestia said, getting a little more comfortable. "But here I am."

Scabior grinned at her despite himself. "'Ere you are."

There was a long pause at the two looked at each other.

"When they said I had a visitor I thought..." he stopped, looking away. "...But no. Xavier was never the visiting type, even the last time they threw me in at the Ministry's pleasure. I reckon he thinks if he comes 'ere they might just decide to keep him."

Celestia saw his disappointment. The part of her that pitied him, that really felt something towards the man in front of her, swelled.

"Have you spoken to him since that night?"

Scabior didn't need for her to clarify which night she meant; the image of his frenzied brother seconds from tearing open the girl's throat, his hands stained with red, was one which would stay with him forever.

"Haven't seen hide nor hair of 'im. Things went pretty much back to business as usual once you were gone; trailing round the woods, sniffing out Mud_blo_... Muggle-borns. You'll never guess what, though."

"What?"

"You'll never believe it."

"I won't if you don't tell me."

"I only went and caught Potter, famous 'Arry Potter, didn't I? Tracked 'im and his partners in crime down, that ginger and the clever one, that pretty little Muggle-born. Smartest Witch of her age, all the paper's say... not smart enough to get away from me, though, was she?" He smirked to himself, content in the knowledge. "My mistake was taking 'em to the Malfoy's- you've heard of the Malfoy's, I'm sure. Well, they might look all prim and proper, but I'll tell ya, I've never seen a family in such a state; their lad scared of his own shadow, that Lucius knocking back the Nettle Wine like there was no tomorrow, and the two sisters... I don't know which one's crazier than the other. We were just there for the reward, but that bunch of prissy lunatics were too busy squabbling amongst themselves to summon old mouldy Voldy. That Bellatrix went nuts on us before he even arrived; even Greyback turned tail. You can't reason with crazy, Celestia. Always remember that."

"Says the man who was waiting for a chance to negotiate payment with the Dark Lord."

Scabior gritted his teeth. "I see your point. The kids escaped, so It's probably all for the best that we weren't invited to stick around; I don't like to think what kind of punishment the man himself dealt the Malfoys for their incompetence. No wonder they ran chicken-scared from the battle."

"You realise you could have triggered a genocide."

"Now come on, Veela, that's a little dramatic."

"If he'd killed Potter, Voldemort would still be at large right now."

"Maybe he would. I wouldn't be in this cell though, would I?"

"No. I wonder where I'd be."

_Dead, probably,_ was the answer. Scabior saw her point. Dead along with all the other Witches and Wizards who didn't fit the Dark Lord's ideal, and all the Muggles.

"You said yourself you never really believed in it all, the whole Pureblood mentality, that it was all about the money, the power kick. Do you regret it?" Her voice was a little too hopeful, asking him for proof that he wasn't a bad man. "Everything you did; siding with the Death Eaters, doing their bidding?"

"Some things, but not all of it," Scabior answered; his posture seemed to ease, and he locked eyes with her again. "I do regret hurting you, though."

Celestia held her wrist where the bite mark had once been. It was only a memory now, like so much of that terrible war had become.

"Bet you regret turning up at Hogwarts to fight. The letter I got from the Ministry when I asked after you said you'd been arrested there on the morning after the battle. You were there when the Covered Bridge blew. What happened?"

"Well, me being me, I turned up with an army, didn't I? First mistake. Some snotty little brat blew the bridge from underneath us, and that was that; bye-bye army. Bye-bye my lads; Gurpton ran straight into an evaporating jinx, the stupid bastard. Matterly fell. Greyback was already off maiming children, as is his way; there's no accounting for some people's tastes. Snatcher's aren't exactly known for their smarts, but one or two of the group were quick-witted enough to cast a protection spell as they went down, which shielded themselves and the lucky few around them. A few others had obviously paid attention in second year charms class, and with a quick_ Arresto Momentum_ just about managed to gently drift to the ground; would have made for a much softer landing, with all those bodies underneath 'em. Me, I had the quick wits to apparate out of there, but panicking as I was, I only went and splinched meself up a storm." He pulled the collar of his shirt away to show Celestia a matted white scar, wide as a ruler, beginning at his neck and running down beneath his arm. "I managed to get not twenty feet from the grounds, and messed up as I was I passed out there, under what was left of the bridge. You'd think between the Dark Lord and his army some low-level muscle like me might have slipped through the net, but oh no. They dragged me out of that ravine, barely alive, my arm very nearly off, and charged me with war crimes before I'd even managed to remember me own name. Bloody ridiculous. So yes, of course I regret it. If I hadn't turned up at that forsaken school they'd never have got to me. Truth is I never got so much as one hex in, not even that big-eared prick who blew the bridge out from underneath us."

Celestia nodded. "So you didn't..."

Scabior watched her search for the words. She couldn't bring herself to say them, so he did.

_"'Kill any kids?'_ ...No, Veela. I didn't."

The relief from the girl was palatable. She quickly changed the subject.

"From what I've heard so long as you don't bare the mark, you're safe. People have been getting away with all sorts. I've read up on you a lot; Snatchers, I mean. The trouble that the Ministry have is that technically none of you have done anything illegal. _They_ employed you, after all. To admit your guilt as a Snatcher is to admit that they themselves, infiltrated as they were, were acting criminally, and then they've got to start sacking people left right and centre."

"It wouldn't be worth the paperwork," Scabior agreed.

"You and the others who survived are only charged with attacking the school, that's right, isn't it? Without the Dark Mark they've got nothing on you. You've already served some of your sentence, you'll be out of here in four years. Maybe even less than that if you behave yourself."

Scabior smiled languidly. "And when have you ever known me to behave myself?"

Celestia grabbed hold of his closed hand, to show him she was serious. He looked down at her own, surprised by the contact. He frowned a little.

"You're not wearing your ring."

Celestia drew back, having surprised herself by grabbing hold of him.

"I gave it to Sanchie."

"...What, that funny-little Elf?!"

The Witch nodded. "Yeah. My Granddad... he died. Left everything to me."

"Quids in," Scabior said encouragingly, a little surprised. "Looks like our fortunes have really flipped. What are you going to do with all that money?"

"...Turns out there wasn't all that much money. Everything of worth is in the house. That other 500 Galleons he was going to have drawn from Gringotts, that was everything, all the savings he had left." Celestia bowed her head. "He would have given everything to get that ring back."

Even Scabior looked a little guilty. "Blimey."

"Sanchie says he tried to find me and my Mum, started looking for us a few weeks after you and I went to the house. He couldn't find us, being in hiding. Broke his heart, what was left of it."

It seemed neither quite knew what to say. Scabior felt all there was to do was change the subject.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you've fallen on your feet. Nice place, your family's estate. They only went and sold my house; on the Muggle market, can you believe. Sold all my stuff too; _proceeds of crime,_ they're calling it; some term tthey've borrowed off the Muggles. _Legalised thievery, _that's what it is."

"Only as far as Snatching was legalised mercenary. You can buy the cottage back, once you get out of here. And they haven't sold _all_ your stuff; anything not of value's in storage."

"Not much use to me if it's not of value, is it?"

"There's always sentimental value."

Scabior blew air through his teeth. "Sentimental my arse. What good has sentimentality ever done anyone? Got you caught out, didn't it, holding on to that old thing." He pointed to the necklace baring her name, still wound about her throat. "...And my dog. My bloody dog. All I ever wanted as a kid was a dog, you know. Couldn't have one, could I, with two Werewolves in the house; the barking would never have stopped. And they wouldn't let them in Hogwarts, either. Soon as I get one I bloody lose him. God know's what's become of the stupid old hound."

"I asked around," Celestia said, dipping into her pocket and pulling out the only thing they'd allowed her to bring into the prison, a handful of documents. "He's in a kennel run by the Ministry. Loads of confiscated animals are kept there; mostly taken because they're illegal to keep as pets, Erklings and Ashwinder's and Fwooper's under silencing charms. The woman I spoke with says they've even got a baby Nundu under lock and key. I can't imagine Jinx is coping too well surrounded by all those magical creatures."

Scabior held his head in his hands, muttering to himself. Celestia pushed the paperwork across the desk along with a self-inking quill.

"I've put in a request, but you need to sign it."

Scabior didn't seem to understand. "A request for what?"

"To take him out of there, of course. He can come and live at the manor until you get out of here."

The former Snatcher looked quizzically at her. "Why are you doing this?"

Celestia shrugged. "He's a good dog."

Scabior grabbed the quill, chains dangling, and signed the paperwork quickly. "Yeah, he is… shame about his owner. Thank you. So that's why you came 'ere?"

"Yes. That and curiosity. And a little concern," she admitted. It had taken her a while to answer. "And I... I need you to tell me why you let me go that day."

He frowned when she said it. Celestia filled the silence which built.

"I can't stop thinking about it. Haven't been able to since the moment I disapperated. After everything that happened, everything you said you would do, and then you just... let me go." Celestia snapped her fingers. "Like that, out of the blue."

"It wasn't out of the blue," he challenged, opening up a little. Even as he spoke the words they felt cathartic. Scabior addressed the wall as he continued. "You got me thinking, damn you. It's a lot easier doing the Snatching job when your brain is on standby. I felt maybe letting you go, giving you a chance of getting out unscathed, might make up for some of the bad I've done in this bloody war."

"War's over," Celestia reminded him, and squeezed his hand again.

"Yeah. Don't change what I've done, though. All those people we snatched, and beat, and... well, you know I did worse. Chances are I might have cared for them, at least enough not to want to hurt 'em, had I stopped a moment to really see 'em, the way I did you."

Celestia soaked that in. It had been more of an answer than she'd expected from the man.

"Thank you for telling me."

Scabior shrugged, pretending it was nothing. "Thanks for waking me up a little."

"Does anyone write to you?" she said quickly, releasing him again. Scabior frowned at the suggestion.

"Well, let's see- my brother is who-knows where doing who-knows what, anything he can to avoid getting nicked or caught by a silver bullet, I imagine. My mates, if you could even call 'em that, have all gone the way of Hovis. I don't even get letters from love-sick crazies who get their kicks from chasing after convicts, for Merlin's sake, and with a face like mine I think I should be entitled to at least a couple. The only person who's bothered to check up on me is you, who by rights should hate me more than most."

"I don't hate you," Celestia said coolly. She looked him in the eyes so that he'd know that she meant it. "But I won't be coming back here. I'll write, if you promise you'll write back. Sounds like you could do with a friend."

"Well, I suppose it's better than staring at the walls all day," Scabior mused dismissively, checking his nails, but she could see that he was pleased at the prospect of a little human interaction. "Pen pals it is."

A small smile passed between the pair of them.

They spent the remainder of the hour talking back-and-forth- sometimes the conversation was serious, other times it was silly. Celestia felt she had more of a rapport with him now that he no longer had power over her. Celestia had seen both the good and the bad in the man, but neither excused nor diminished the other. She wished they had not met the way that they had, and that he had understood then what he seemed to understand a lot better now.

"Time's up!" the Jailer called, rasping his knuckles on the door, surprising both of them. Scabior's face fell.

_"Five more minutes!" _the pair called at the same time; this would had made them laugh had the seconds left not been so short. Celestia turned back to Scabior, trying to find the words. Chains rattled as he reached out for her hand; she allowed him to take it.

"I'm glad you're doing well," Scabior said sincerely, rubbing her finger where the ring had once been. "And your family, and your Hufflepuff friend. None of it thanks to me."

"All of it thanks to you," Celestia said; it felt refreshing to admit what she had been wrestling with for so long out loud. "You might have caused me a lot of problems, but you at least tried to fixed them. If we hadn't gotten away to France I don't know what would have happened. I never said thank you for that."

Scabior scoffed. "After what I did, you didn't have to."

He kissed her hand, just as he'd done on the day he had let her go. Celestia stood, and carefully pulled her fingers out of his hold. He allowed her to slide out of his grip, slowly, a gentle melancholy taking over his face as he let her go a second time.

Celestia walked to the door and waited there a moment, before turning back.

"You know I've forgiven you, don't you?" Celestia told him, believing that perhaps he needed to hear it. Scabior wouldn't meet her eye, his brow furrowed.

"Doesn't mean I've forgotten. But I forgive you."

Scabior smiled, barely a flicker.

"That's good enough for me."

"You'll write me back, won't you?"

"Cross my heart, what's left of it."

"Good. I'll see you on the other side, I guess."

His eyes locked on to hers, savouring the connection. He knew he would be feeling nothing of the sort for a very long time.

"See you on the other side."

"Scabior-"

The Jailer pulled the door closed before the man could here whatever it was she had to say. After a moment of stillness the man swore beneath his breath and kicked out at the chair leg, listening as footsteps lead her away. His head fell into his hands. He remembered suddenly how cold the room was, how empty it felt when he was the only one in it. Before long the Jailer returned with an Auror to escort him back to his dark little cell, his wand pointed at the prisoner's chest as the Auror stepped into the room to unchain him from his seat.

"A little lower, darling," Scabior teased nonchalantly; the Auror drew back from him with a warning stare. She was a huge woman, with an indelicate face, shiny dark hair and muscles which would rivalled his own even before his Snatching career had been cut short. She was not the sort of woman one would want to start a fight with.

"Ignore 'im, Pertico," the Jailer said, waving his wand to hurry things along. "'Es all bark, that one. He's got about as much bite as a Niffler."

Pertico didn't seem to need convincing. She hauled Scabior towards the door with one hand, her large fingers tense against his shoulder.

"_Ouch,"_ Scabior muttered, wincing beneath her hold. "Careful with the goods, love."

"Watch who you're calling love, _sweetheart,"_ she sneered, jolting him forwards. Scabior jumped a little, but moved on without complaint. At the door to his cell the Auror left them, her heavy boots stomping along the corridor.

"I think I prefered 'aving the Dementors around," Scabior muttered, fidgeting a little in the chains around his wrists.

"You and me both," the Jailer grumbled. "Now I'll have no trouble from you, Snatcher, you 'ear? I don't want to have to chain you up again."

Scabior bared his teeth a little, ready to bite back with some scathing insult; then he remembered what Celestia had said. _Four years, _that was all._ Less, if you behave yourself._

"I 'ear you," Scabior assured him. "You'll be no trouble from me, G'uvnor."

The jailer closed the door with narrow, suspicious eyes, casting a spell to release Scabior of the chains about his wrists before disappearing. Scabior watched him go through the bars in the wooden door, then turned to look out of the barred window behind him, the enchantment cast upon it shimmering slightly. She really had come to visit him, just as she'd said she would. He couldn't understand why she'd come, but he was grateful that she had. She believed that he could change for the better; if not, she at least cared enough to want him to. All he'd done to her, and she wanted to help him. It seemed like rather an un-Slytherin thing to do.

Outside the sky called, a brilliant blue. Scabior imagined the day soon when he would watch an owl fly across it, bringing a letter for him. He smiled a little.

Four years of good behaviour didn't sound so bad after all.


	9. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The months went by, and years quickly followed. Celestia's talents for the care of creatures, magical or otherwise, allowed her to find an apprenticeship at the very sanctuary she had pulled Jinx from, and she was well on her way to a real profession in the field of Magizoology. It had been difficult, when she had returned from her expeditions to Azkaban and London, to explain why she had left home alone and returned with an enormous, lolloping dog, but her parents had fallen in love with Jinx as quickly as she herself had, and with a short story about doing a favour for a friend in need they had stopped asking questions.

It was more difficult to explain away the various animals she brought home from work to care for who needed special attention- a litter of illegally bred Pygmy Puffs who needed to be hand-fed, a Hogwarts Owl who had been confiscated from a student after a silly prank had led to the bird's wing being injured, and, on several occasions, escaped Nifflers who had found their way into her belongings as she'd left work and had spent the next several hours, or sometimes even days, being chased around the manor by the entire household as they ferreted about, stealing various dazzling gems from her Grandmother's jewellery box and trying to pull crystals from the chandeliers.

On one particularly relaxing Sunday, late into the day when the whole family were occupied in tending to their hobbies, Jinx jumped up from his place on Celestia's lap and bolted quickly to the door, barking as though he were rabid all the way. Celestia had only ever heard him bark so wildly once before, and that was upon seeing Xavier; the sound made her put down her book and take notice.

"Dave!" Celestia heard her mother calling from the study, "there's someone at the door!"

Celestia heard her father shout something back from his workshop, where he'd spent the past few years tinkering quite illegally with the various magical items Celestia and her mother would bring home from their visits to Diagon Alley. Jinx's barking was now so loud that she could hardly make out what he was saying. Celestia noticed she was clinging to the arms of the sofa and scalded herself for being so frightful. Only in her nightmares, which had been far less frequent as of late, would it make sense that the Werewolf should turn up at her doorstep. They'd made it a small tradition to get together and have a few friends for dinner on Sundays; it would only be one of them arriving. She pinched herself to ensure she was awake, then got to her feet and headed for the door.

"I'll get it, Sanchie," she called to the House-Elf, also sitting in the living room; Sanchie peered over at her once-Mistress from her place on the large plush sofa facing the TV, where she was perusing the television guide. Such statements had become a running joke; since gaining her freedom, the little House-Elf had learned to embrace retirement, and if an activity didn't involve chocolates or daytime television, she had little interest in it. Celestia chuckled a little and went to the door, shaking her head.

Celestia was not surprised that it had been the dog rather than the house's enchantments which had informed her of visitors. The serpent door-knocker rarely came to life anymore; it seemed quite affronted that Jinx had taken over its job. He was barking like mad, more so than usual, his paws scraping frantically. Celestia came up behind him and rubbed his ears before prising open the door.

"Alright, Jinxy, calm down. It's probably only Lamia-"

Celestia stopped in her tracks as she saw who was waiting on the other side of the door.

The man bent quickly to his knees as Jinx pounced towards him, panting happily, his tail wagging as he tried his best to lick the visitor's face. The reunion was just as joyful from the other side, the man laughing freely, a hand ruffling behind either of the dog's ears as he kissed his companion's furry forehead.

Celestia watched the scene with a mix of surprise and some other warm emotion she couldn't quite place. Had she passed by him in the street, she might not at first have recognised him; he wore a black leather jacket, a black shirt and dark Muggle jeans with a familiar slim leg. His face was properly shaven and his hair had a new short, smart cut, but the red streak, freshly-dyed, was instantly recognisable. The red Snatcher's sash was finally gone, and should the future be kind, would never come back.

As he stood up to address her, Scabior broke into a smile. He looked much healthier than he had when she'd visited him in Azkaban, though his face was a little more lined, but his eyes were still the same. So was that grin.

"Hello, beautiful."

Celestia bent slightly to stroke Jinx as he brushed past her legs. A small smile blessed her cheeks.

"Aren't you getting a bit old for hair dye?"

Scabior's hands went to his pockets. "A man's gotta have a little fun in his old age."

"Especially after three years inside."

"Three years and five months; don't forget the five months. I certainly won't. It's amazing how much you miss, taking an 'oliday at the Minister's pleasure. Still, good behaviour and all that; at least I wasn't away for four. They've, uh, given me my wand back. Not me proper one, that was lost at the Manor, but the one I've got now still gets the job done. Apparation privileges and all that. I've been in touch with the Ministry about my stuff; they said I can pick it all up at the end of the week."

"That's good... that's really good. And your house?"

Scabior shook his head, but he didn't look too wounded. "Nothing there, I'm afraid. There's a Muggle couple brought the place, moved in with their two kids. I'll find somewhere new."

Scabior didn't want to take his eyes off Celestia. She was just as he remembered her. He couldn't help but smile wider at the thought.

"Standing on this doorstep again brings back some interestin' memories. You haven't changed a bit."

Celestia smiled shyly. She seemed lighter now, with a much higher energy than he had ever known her. He had only ever known her frightened and down-trodden; imagined this is how she was before the war, before fear and hardship had hardened them all, now that time had allowed her to heal.

"You've changed, though... haven't you?"

Scabior paused before answering. His eyes went to the top of the door frame. "First time I went to Azkaban, I changed in there, and not for the better. When I came out I was someone else. Something changed again when I ran into you, and again when they put me back in that hell-hole. Now that I'm free again... I'll be honest with you, Veela. I'm not quite sure who I am."

For what felt like a long while the two stared at each other, unsure of what they should say. Eye contact remained, but words seemed to have left both of them. Scabior reached out to touch her arm, hoping that the gesture might say everything he needed to; involuntarily, Celestia flinched away. Scabior felt something within him sink.

Footsteps were approaching from the corridor.

"Oh, C, you've got the door, good stuff. Have you seen the garlic crusher? Your Mum reckons the Niffler's have been at it again-"

The air changed as the young man came into view, wearing a kitchen apron splashed with some sort of orange sauce. Aloxus and Scabior stared at each other for half a second before both of their hands went to the wands in their pockets.

"Don't start!" Celestia barked, putting a hand out to both of them. "It's fine, Al. It's fine."

"What the hell is he doing _here?!"_

"I told you, leave it-"

The raised voices summoned Celestia's mother, who came bowling into the hallway with flour-covered hands.

"Everyone alright?" she called in a light, high voice; Cressida halted her speech as she saw the startled-looking man at the door, Jinx sitting happily at his feet. Cressida smiled at the clean-cut man, who looked very uncomfortable, bringing his hand up around the back of his neck. "Who's this then?"

The former Snatcher grimaced. He took a step back as though to leave.

"Scabior," Celestia said quickly, stopping the man in his tracks. "Mum, this is Scabior. He's the... the friend we've been looking after Jinx for. The one I met when I was on the run."

Al gave her a half-hangry, half-horrified glance. Celestia begged him with her eyes not to make a scene.

"Ah," Cressida beamed, a little deflated at the idea of losing the dog, "well, that's wonderful, though we'll be very sad to see him go- except for Sanchie, I imagine she'll be quite happy to see the back of _"The Beast",_ as she calls him. Jinx is part of the family now! Such a good boy, aren't you, Jinx? Aren't you?!"

Jinx thumped his tail happily, but would not move from Scabior's side. Cressida smiled towards the man.

"Would you like to come in, Scabior, maybe stay for dinner? Aloxus and I are making a mean bolognese tonight, and my husband's promised us Apple Pie is he can pull himself away from his tinkering."

The former Snatcher backed up a few more steps; Jinx moved with him, looking confused.

"No, no. Really, thanks for the offer, but I should get going, back to..."

His voice trailed off as he realised he had nowhere to go. Aloxus glared at him, bringing a hand up to Celestia's shoulder protectively. Suddenly a high-pitched alarm sounded; Cressida's face washed with panic, as a faint smell of burning began to swirl in the air.

"The bruschetta!" Cressida squeaked, hurrying back to the kitchen. The others watched her go, then Scabior cleared his throat.

"I'll just go," he said, avoiding looking at Aloxus, clipping a lead he'd brought with him onto Jinx's collar. "Thanks for looking after me dog."

"Stay," Celestia said quickly, her face sincere. She and Al exchanged another glance; after a moment, he seemed to bend to her will. The girl turned back to the man at the doorstep.

"Please. When's the last time you had a proper meal? I want you to stay... that is, of course, if you can contain your fear of House-Elves."

Scabior smiled, bowing his head a little. He swept a hand through the short hair at his temple, as if to brush away strands which were no longer there.

"I think maybe I could manage that."

"Are you sure about this?" Aloxus asked Celestia, his hand moving from her shoulder. "You remember who this guy is, right? What he did?"

"Of course," Celestia said, answering all three questions at once. She looked meaningfully at Scabior. "and I reckon he's got some apologising to do."

Aloxus gave the man another shifty look but relented. "Fine. But I can't promise I won't poison his bolognese."

Al Squeezed Celestia's arm, then headed back down the corridor and into the kitchen. The young woman smiled as warmly as she could manage at Scabior and gestured to him in welcome. He hesitated on the threshold.

"I don't think this is such a good idea, sweetheart," Scabior said. "Your guard dog's got it in for me, with good reason, and you know I don't do to well with apologies."

"I thought you liked a challenge," Celestia said with a teasing grin, and motioned him inside. After a moment more of consideration he gave in, and Celestia touched him lightly on the shoulder as he entered the cozy home. Jinx followed after them, panting a little as he went, his tail wagging more furiously than it had in months. The onyx door closed slowly behind the faithful hound of its own accord; the steel serpent which guarded the house twisted its tail, coiled in place, and became once more very still.

_-Fin-_

**AN: Thank you for reading everyone! I hope you've enjoyed this little story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please take a few moments to leave a farewell review if you enjoyed, and all the best to all!**


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